And lo ! the herds, they come, they come, A sweeping thunder-cloud of life, Loud as Niagara, and grand As they who rode with plume and brand On Waterloo's red slope of strife,

Wild as the rush of tidal waves

That roar among the crags and caves, The trampling besom hurls along; A black and bounding fiery mass That withers as with flame the grass, Oh, terrible ! ten thousand strong.

Meanwhile, the dusty teams are stopt The wagon tongues are deftly dropt,

The drivers, by their oxen stand

To sooth them with soft speech and hand. And yet with horns tossed free, and eyes Ablaze with purple depths of ire, A thousand servile years expire, And flashes of old nature rise,

As if a sudden spirit woke

That would not brook the chain and yoke.

"And then, the stormy pageant past, They bow their callow necks at last, And with a heavy stride, and slow, The dreams of liberty forego."

There Were thousands of buffalo and much other game on the meadows where the city of North Platte now stands, and it was remarked that this was the best game park in the world.

One can well believe the hail storms are nothing new to western Nebraska, but the first record that we have seen was on July 21, 1844, the, Minto party were on the high divide between the Plattes, near Ash Hollow, when there came a sudden storm, and the people and the stock suffered from a severe pelting by hail, "some of the hailstones being as large as hen's eggs." In the storm the cattle drifted and according to "Black Harris" the guide, the party came down into the valley about twelve miles west of Ash Hollow.