Previous to his licensure, he had received from the American Board an

appointment to proceed on an exploring tour among the Indians of the

Upper Mississippi, with special reference to the Sacs and Foxes, but

to collect what information he could in regard to the Sioux,

Winnebagoes, and other Indians. Starting on this tour about the last

of April, he went as far as Fort Snelling, and returned to Ohio in

August. At Rock Island he met with some of the Sacs and Foxes, and at

Prairie du Chien he first saw Dakotas, among others Mr. Joseph

Renville of Lac-qui-parle. On the 18th of September he was ordained as

a missionary by the Chillicothe Presbytery, in Union Church, Ross

County, Ohio.

A few months afterward he received his appointment as a missionary of

the A. B. C. F. M. to the Dakotas; and on the first day of April,

1835, Dr. Williamson, with his wife and one child, accompanied by

Miss Sarah Poage, Mrs. Williamson's sister, who afterward became Mrs.

Gideon H. Pond, and Alexander G. Huggins and family, left Ripley,

Ohio, and on the 16th of May they arrived at Fort Snelling. At this

time, the only white people in Minnesota, then a part of the

North-west Territory, were those connected with the military post at

Fort Snelling, the only post-office within the present limits of the

State; those connected with the fur-trade, except Hon. H. H. Sibley,

were chiefly Canadian French, ignorant of the English language; and

Messrs. Gideon H. and Samuel W. Pond, who came on their own account as

lay teachers of Christ to the Indians in 1834.

While stopping there for a few weeks, Dr. Williamson presided at the

organization, on the 12th of June, of the First Presbyterian

Church--the first Christian church organized within the present limits

of Minnesota. This was within the garrison at Fort Snelling, and

consisted of twenty-two members, chiefly the result of the labors of

Major Loomis among the soldiers.

Having concluded to accompany Mr. Joseph Renville, Dr. Williamson's

party embarked on the fur company's Mackinaw boat on the 22d of June;

reached Traverse des Sioux on the 30th, where they took wagons and

arrived at Lac-qui-parle on the 9th of July. There, on the north side

of the Minnesota River, and in sight of the "Lake that speaks," they

established themselves as teachers of the religion of Jesus.

Of the "Life and Labors" pressed into the next forty-four years, only

the most meager outline can be given in this article. It is now almost

two round centuries since Hennepin and Du Luth met in the camps and

villages of the Sioux on the Upper Mississippi. Then, as since, they

were recognized as the largest and most warlike tribe of Indians on

the continent. Until Dr. Williamson and his associates went among

them, there does not appear to have been any effort made to civilize

and Christianize them. With the exception of a few hundred words

gathered by army officers and others, the Dakota language was

unwritten. This was to be learned--_mastered_, which was found to be

no small undertaking, especially to one who had attained the age of

thirty-five years. While men of less energy and pluck would have

knocked off or been content to work as best they could through an

interpreter, Dr. Williamson persevered, and in less than two years was

preaching Christ to them in the language in which they were born. He

never spoke it easily nor just like an Indian, but he was readily

understood by those who were accustomed to hear him.

It was by a divine guidance that the station at Lac-qui-parle was

commenced. The Indians there were very poor in this world's good, not

more than a half-dozen horses being owned in a village of 400 people.

They were far in the interior, and received no annuities from the

government. Thus they were in a condition to be helped in many ways by

the mission. Under its influence and by its help, their corn-patches

were enlarged and their agriculture improved. Dr. Williamson also

found abundant opportunities to practise medicine among them. Not that

they gave up their pow-wows and conjuring; but many families were

found quite willing that the white Pay-zhe-hoo-ta-we-chash-ta (Grass

Root Man) should try his skill with the rest. For more than a quarter

of a century his medical aid went hand in hand with the preaching of

the Gospel. By the helpfulness of the mission in various ways, a

certain amount of confidence was secured. And through the influence

of Mr. Renville, a few men, but especially the women, gathered to hear

the good news of salvation.

Here they were rejoiced to see the Word taking effect early. In less

than a year after their arrival, Dr. Williamson organized a native

church, which, in the autumn of 1837, when I joined the mission force

at Lac-qui-parle, counted seven Dakotas. Five years after the number

received from the beginning had been forty-nine. This was a very

successful commencement.

But in the meantime the war-prophets and the so-called medicine-men

were becoming suspicious of the new religion. They began to understand

that the religion of Christ antagonized their own ancestral faith, and

so they organized opposition. The children were forbidden to attend

the mission school; Dakota soldiers were stationed along the paths,

and the women's blankets were cut up when they attempted to go to

church. Year after year the mission cattle were killed and eaten. At

one time, Dr. Williamson was under the necessity of hitching up

milch-cows to haul his wood--the only animals left him.

These were dark, discouraging years--very trying to the native church

members, as well as to the missionaries. As I look back upon them, I

can but admire the indomitable courage and perseverance of Dr.

Williamson. My own heart would, I think, have sometimes failed me if

it had not been for the "hold on and hold out unto the end" of my

earthly friend.

As Mr. Renville could only interpret between the Dakotas and French,

Dr. Williamson applied himself to learning the latter language.

Through this a beginning was made in the translation of the Scriptures

into the Dakota. Late in the fall of 1839 the Gospel of Mark and some

other small portions were ready to be printed, and Dr. Williamson went

with his family to Ohio, where he spent the winter. The next printing

of portions of the Bible was done in 1842-43, when Dr. Williamson had

completed a translation of the book of Genesis. We had now commenced

to translate from the Hebrew and Greek. This was continued through all

the years of his missionary life. So far as I can remember, there was

no arrangement of work between the doctor and myself, but while I

commenced the New Testament, and, having completed that, turned to the

Psalms, and, having finished to the end of Malachi, made some steps

backward through Job, Esther, Nehemiah, and Ezra, he, commencing with

Genesis, closed his work, in the last months of his life, with Second

Chronicles, having taken in also the book of Proverbs.

Before leaving the subject of Bible translation, let me bear testimony

to the uniform kindness and courtesy which Dr. Williamson extended to

me, through all this work of more than forty years. It could hardly be

said of either of us that we were very yielding. The doctor was a man

of positive opinions, and there were abundant opportunities in

prosecuting our joint work for differences of judgment. But, while we

freely criticised each the other's work, we freely yielded to each

other the right of ultimate decision.

In the autumn of 1846, Dr. Williamson received an invitation, through

the agent at Fort Snelling, to establish a mission at Little Crow's

Village, a few miles below where St. Paul has grown up, and he at once

accepted it, gathering from it that the Lord had a work for him to do

there. And indeed he had. During the five or six years he remained

there, a small Dakota church was gathered, and an opportunity was

afforded him to exert a positive Christian influence on the white

people then gathering into the capital of Minnesota. Dr. Williamson

preached the first sermon there.

When, after the treaties of 1851, the Indians of the Mississippi were

removed, he removed with them--or, rather, went before them, and

commenced his last station at Pay-zhe-hoo-ta-zee, Yellow Medicine.

There he and his family had further opportunities "to glory in

tribulations." The first winter was one of unusual severity, and they

came near starving. But here the Lord blessed them, and permitted them

to see a native church grow up, as well as at Hazelwood, the other

mission station near by. It was during the next ten years that the

seeds of civilization and Christianity took root, and grew into a

fruitage, which, in some good manner, bore up under the storm of the

outbreak in 1862, and resulted in a great harvest afterward.

Twenty-seven years of labor among the Dakotas were past. The results

had been encouraging--gratifying. Dr. Williamson's eldest son, Rev.

John P. Williamson, born into the missionary kingdom, had recently

come from Lane Seminary, and joined our missionary forces. But

suddenly our work seemed to be dashed in pieces. The whirlwind of the

outbreak swept over our mission. Our houses and churches were burned

with fire. The members of our native churches--where were they? Would

there ever be a gathering again? But nothing could discourage Dr.

Williamson, for he trusted not in an arm of flesh, but in the

all-powerful arm of God. He found that he at least had the consolation

of knowing that all the Christian Indians had continued, at the risk

of their own lives, steadfast friends of the whites, that they had

succeeded in saving more than their own number of white people, and

that those of them who were unjustly imprisoned spent much of the time

in laboring for the conversion of the heathen imprisoned with them.

It required just such a political and moral revolution as this to

break the bonds of heathenism, in which these Dakotas were held. It

seems also to have required the manifest endurance of privations, and

the unselfish devotion of Dr. Williamson and others to them in this

time of trouble, to fully satisfy their suspicious hearts that we did

not seek _theirs_ but _them_. The winter of 1862-63, Dr. Williamson,

having located his family at St. Peter, usually walked up every

Saturday to Mankato, to preach the Gospel to the 400 men in prison.

"That," said a young man, "satisfied us that you were really our

friends." Sometimes it seems strange that it required so much to

convince them! History scarcely furnishes a more remarkable instance

of divine power on human hearts than was witnessed in that prison. For

a particular account of this the reader is referred to the monograph

on Rev. G. H. Pond.

Ever since the outbreak, Dr. Williamson has made a home for his family

in the town of St. Peter and its vicinity. For two years of the three

in which the condemned Dakotas were imprisoned at Davenport, Iowa, he

gave his time and strength chiefly to ministering to their spiritual

needs. Education never progressed so rapidly among them as during

these years. They almost all learned to read and write their own

language; and spent much of their time in singing hymns of praise, in

prayer, and in reading the Bible. They were enrolled in classes, and

each class placed under the special teaching of an elder. This gave

them something like a Methodist organization, but it was found

essential to a proper watch and care. This experience in the prison

and elsewhere made it more and more manifest that, to carry forward

the work of evangelization among this people, we must make large use

of our native talent.

The original Dakota presbytery was organized at Lac-qui-parle in the

first days of October, 1844. Dr. Williamson and myself brought our

letters from the presbytery of Ripley, Ohio, and Samuel W. Pond

brought his from an Association in Connecticut. The bounds of this

presbytery were not accurately defined, and so for years it absorbed

all the ministers of the Gospel of the Presbyterian and Congregational

orders who came into the Minnesota country. By and by the presbyteries

of St. Paul and Minnesota were organized; but the Dakota presbytery

still covered the country of the Minnesota River.

At a meeting of this presbytery at Mankato in the spring of 1865, when

our first Dakota preacher, Rev. John B. Renville, was licensed, an

incident took place which illustrates the meekness and magnanimity of

Dr. Williamson's character. On its own adjournment the presbytery had

convened and was opened with a sermon by Dr. Williamson, in the

evening, in the Presbyterian church. He took occasion to present the

subject of our duties to the down-trodden races, the African and the

Indian. Doubtless some who heard the discourse did not approve of it.

But no exceptions would have been taken if the Jewett family, out a

few miles from the town, had not been killed that night by a Sioux

war-party. Men were so unreasonable as to claim that the preaching

and the preacher had some kind of casual relation with the killing.

The next day, Mankato was in a ferment. An indignation meeting was

held, and a committee of citizens was sent to the Presbyterian church

to require Dr. Williamson to leave their town. Some of the members of

the presbytery were indignant at this demand; but the good doctor

chose to retire to his home at St. Peter, assuring the excited and

unreasonable men of Mankato that he could have had no knowledge of the

presence of the war-party, and certainly had no sympathy with their

wicked work.

In years after this, I traveled hundreds of miles, often alone with

Dr. Williamson, and while we conversed freely of all our experiences,

and of the way God had led us, I do not remember that I ever heard him

refer to this ill treatment of the people of Mankato. Like his Master,

he had learned obedience by the things he suffered.

Never brilliant, he was yet, by his capacity for long-continued,

severe exertion, and by systematic, persevering industry, enabled to

accomplish an almost incredible amount of labor. His life was a grand

one, made so by his indomitable perseverance in the line of lifting up

the poor and those who had no helper.

From the beginning he had an unshaken faith in his work. He fully

believed in the ability of the Indians to become civilized and

Christianized. He had an equally strong and abiding faith in the power

of the Gospel to elevate and save even them. Then add to these his

personal conviction that God had, by special providences, called him

to this work, and we have a threefold cord of faith, that was not

easily broken.

No one who knew him ever doubted that Dr. Williamson was a true

friend of the red man. And he succeeded wonderfully in making this

impression upon the Indians themselves. They recognized, and, of late

years, often spoke of, his life-long service for them. With a class of

white men, this was the head and front of his offending, that, in

their judgment, he could see only one side--that he was always the

apologist of the Indians--that in the massacres of the border in 1862,

when others believed and asserted that a thousand or fifteen hundred

whites were killed, Dr. Williamson could only count three or four

hundred. He was honest in his beliefs and honest in his apologies. He

felt that necessity was laid upon him to "open his mouth for the

dumb." They could not defend themselves, and they have had very few

defenders among white people.

In the summer of 1866, after the release of the Dakota prisoners at

Davenport, Dr. Williamson and I took with us Rev. John B. Renville,

and journeyed up through Minnesota and across Dakota to the Missouri

River, and into the eastern corner of Nebraska. On our way, we spent

some time at the head of the Coteau, preaching and administering the

ordinances of the Gospel to our old church members, and gathering in a

multitude of new converts, ordaining elders over them, and licensing

two of the best qualified to preach the Gospel. When we reached the

Niobrara, we found the Christians of the prison at Davenport and the

Christians of the camp at Crow Creek now united; and they desired to

be consolidated into one church of more than 400 members. We helped

them to select their religious teachers, which they did from the men

who had been in prison. So mightily had the Word of God prevailed

among them that almost the entire adult community professed to be

Christians. Rev. John P. Williamson was there in charge of the work.

For four successive summers, it was our privilege to travel together

in this work of visiting and reconstructing these Dakota Christian

communities. We also extended our visits to the villages of the wild

Teeton Sioux along the Missouri River. Dr. Williamson claimed that

Indians must be more honest than white people; for he always took with

him an old trunk without lock or key, and in all these journeys he did

not lose from a thread to a shoe-string.

For thirty-six years the doctor was a missionary of the American

Board. But after the union of the assemblies, and the transfer of the

funds contributed by the New School supporters of that board to the

Presbyterian Board of Foreign Missions, the question of a change of

our relations was thoughtfully considered and fully discussed. He was

too strong a Presbyterian not to have decided convictions on that

subject. But there were, as we considered it, substantial reasons why

we could not go over as an entire mission. And so we agreed to divide,

Dr. Williamson and his son, Rev. John P. Williamson, transferring

themselves to the Presbyterian Board, while my boys and myself

remained as we were. The division made no disturbance in our mutual

confidence, and no change in the methods of our common work. Rather

have the bonds of our union been drawn more closely together, during

the past eight years, by an annual conference of all our Dakota

pastors and elders and Sabbath-school workers. This has gathered and

again distributed the enthusiasm of the churches; and has become the

director of the native missionary forces. With one exception, Dr.

Williamson was able to attend all these annual convocations, and

added very much to their interest.

While the synod of Minnesota was holding its sessions in St. Paul in

October, 1877, the good doctor was lying at the point of death, as was

supposed, with pneumonia. Farewell words passed between him and the

synod. But his work was not then done, and the Lord raised him up to

complete it. At the next meeting of the synod, he presented a

discourse on Rev. G. H. Pond; and during the winter following he

finished his part of the Dakota Bible. Then his work appeared to be

done, and he declined almost from that day onward.

On my way up to the land of the Dakotas, in the middle of May, 1879, I

stopped over a day with my old friend. He was very feeble, but still

able to walk out, and to sit up a good part of the day. We talked of

many things. He then expressed the hope that as the warm weather came

on he might rally, as he had done in former years. But the undertone

was that, as the great work of giving the Bible to the Dakotas in

their own language was completed, there was not much left for him to

do here. He remarked that, during the last forty-four years, he had

built several houses, all of which had either gone to pieces, or were

looking old, and would not remain long after he was gone. But the

building up of human souls that he had been permitted to work for, and

which, by the grace of God, he had seen coming up into a new life,

through the influence of the Word and the power of the Holy Ghost, he

confidently believed would _remain_.

When I spoke of the near prospect of his dissolution to his Dakota

friends, there arose in all the churches a _great prayer cry_ for his

recovery. This was reported to him, and he sent back this message, by

the hand of his son Andrew: "Tell the Indians that father thanks them

very much for their prayers, and hopes they will be blessed both to

his good and theirs. But he does not wish them to pray that his life

here may be prolonged, for he longs to depart and be with Christ." And

the testimony of Rev. G. F. McAfee, pastor of the Presbyterian church

in St. Peter, who often visited and prayed with him in his last days,

is to the same effect: "He absolutely forbade me to pray that he might

recover, but that he might depart in peace."

And so his longing was answered. He died on Tuesday, June 24, 1879, in

the morning watch.

He had no ecstasies, but he looked into the future world with a firm

and abiding faith in Him whom, not having seen, he loved. Of his last

days, John P. Williamson writes thus:--

"He seemed to be tired out in body and mind, with as much

disinclination to talk as to move, and apparently as much from

the labor of collecting his mind as the difficulty of

articulation. I think he talked very little from the time I was

here going home from General Assembly (June 1) till his death,

and for some time was perhaps unconscious.

"You may know that father had a special distaste for what are

called death-bed experiences. Still, we thought that perhaps,

at the last, when the bodily pains ceased, there might be a

little lingering sunshine from the inner man, but such was not

the case; and perhaps it was most fitting that he should die as

he had lived, with no exalted feelings or bright imagery of the

future, but a stern faith, which gives hope and peace in the

deepest waters."

He lived to see among the Dakotas ten native ordained Presbyterian

ministers and about 800 church members, besides a large number of

Episcopalians, a success probably much beyond his early anticipations.

On the farther shore he has joined the multitude that have gone

before. Of his own family there are the three who went up in infancy.

Next, Smith Burgess, a manly Christian boy, was taken away very

suddenly. Then Lizzie Hunter went in the prime of womanhood. The

mother followed, a woman of quiet and beautiful life. And then the

sainted Nannie went up to put on white robes. Besides these of his

family, a multitude of Dakotas are there, who will call him father. I

think they have gathered around him and sung, under the trees by the

river, one of his first Dakota hymns:--

"Jehowa Mayooha, nimayakiye,

Nitowashta iwadowan."

"Jehovah, my Master, thou hast saved me,

I sing of thy goodness."

My friend--my long-life friend--my companion in tribulation and in the

patience of work, I almost envy thee thy _first_ translation.

S. R. R.

A MEMORIAL.

ELIZA HUGGINS; NANNIE WILLIAMSON; JULIA LA FRAMBOISE.

ELIZA W. HUGGINS.

The Lord came to his garden, and gathered three fair flowers, which

now bloom in the city of our God. We, who knew their beauty, come to

lay our loving remembrances upon their graves.

Eliza Wilson Huggins was the third child of Alexander G. and Lydia

Huggins. She was born March 7, 1837, and died June 22, 1873.

She early gave herself to Jesus, and her lovely life was like a strain

of sacred music, albeit its years of suffering brought out chords of

minor harmony.

This young girl, in the dawn of womanhood, with gentle step and loving

voice, was a revelation to us who were younger than she. Huguenot

blood ran swiftly in her veins, and grief and joy were keen realities

to her sensitive soul. But she quieted herself as a child before the

Lord, and he gave her the ornament which is without price. Though she

wist not, her face shone, and we, remembering, know that she had been

with Jesus.

Her sister, Mrs. Holtsclaw, writes: "We are of Huguenot descent on our

father's side. Our great-great-grandfather was born at sea in the

flight from France to England. Two brothers (in that generation or

the one following) came to America, one settling in North Carolina,

the other in New England. Our grandfather left North Carolina when

father was a small boy, because he thought slavery wrong, and did not

wish his children exposed to its influences.

"Grandmother Huggins was a sister of Rev. James Gilliland of Red Oak,

Ohio. She was a very earnest Christian, and often prayed that her

descendants, to the latest generation, might be honest, humble

followers of Jesus.

"Eliza was converted, and united with the church in Felicity, Ohio,

under the pastorate of Rev. Smith Poage. She was, I think, about

twelve years of age."

She was a most loving daughter, sister, and friend, because she had

given herself unreservedly to Him who yearns to be more than friend,

mother, or brother to us all. When heavy bereavements came upon the

family, Jesus kept their hearts from breaking. The dear father went

the way of all the earth. Then a brother-in-law, who was a brother

indeed; then the elder brother, tried and true, in an instant of time,

speeds home to heaven; and again a younger brother, in his bright

youth; these three were the family's offering upon the altar of

freedom. A costly offering! A heavy price paid! "Though he slay me,

yet will I trust in him."

For seven years Miss Huggins taught school as continuously as her

health permitted. Her methods as a teacher were followed by peculiar

success. She loved children, and had a most earnest desire to help

them up to all that is best and wisest in life. Children know by

instinct whose is the firm yet loving hand stretched out to lead them

in the paths of pleasantness and peace. Some of this time she taught

in the mission school. Her sister says:--

"I cannot write of her long sickness, her intense suffering, her

patient waiting to see what the Lord had in store for her; all this is

too painful for me. St. Anthony, where she first came with such bright

hopes of finding health, was the place from which she went to her long

rest. It was the place where she found cure.

"The Dakota text-book, which she and Nannie prepared, was a labor of

much thought and prayer. It was not published until after she had gone

home."

Mignonette and sweet violets may well be emblem flowers for this

lovely sister. Would that I might strew them on her grave, in the

early summer-time, as a farewell till we meet again.

NANCY JANE WILLIAMSON.

BY M. R. M.

When an army marches on under fire, and one after another falls by the

way, the ranks close up that there may ever be an unbroken front

before the foe. So in life's battle, as one by one drops out of the

ranks, we who are left must needs _march on_. Yet, if we stop a little

to think and talk of the ones gone, it may help us as we press

forward. Then, to-day let us bring to mind something of the life of a

sister departed.

Nannie J. Williamson was born at Lac-qui-parle, Minn., on the 28th of

July, 1840. From her birth she was afflicted with disease of the

spine, so that she was almost two years old before she walked at all,

and then her ankles bent and had to be bound in splints. "Aunt Jane"

mentions that Nannie was in her fourth year when she first saw her,

and at that time, when the children went out to play, her brother John

either carried her or drew her in a little wagon, to save her the

fatigue of walking. So she must have truly borne the yoke in her

youth. That the burden was not lifted as the years went by, we may

judge from the facts that when away at school, both in Galesburg,

Ill., and Oxford, Ohio, she was under the care of a physician; and she

almost always studied her lessons lying on her back.

Though her days were stretched out to her 38th year, her body never

fully ripened into womanhood, and her heart never lost the sweetness

and simplicity of the child. It was not so with her mind. Overleaping

the body, with a firm and strong grasp, it took up every object of

thought, and filled its storehouse of knowledge.

"The date of her conversion is not known. She loved Jesus from a

child."

In the fall of 1854 our family moved to within two miles of Dr.

Williamson's new station of Pay-zhe-hoo-ta-zee, or Yellow Medicine.

From that time we were intimately associated, and many delightful

memories are connected with those days. In September, 1857, Nannie

went to the W. F. Seminary at Oxford, Ohio. She made many friends

among her school-mates, and all respected her for her consistent

character, her faithfulness in her studies, and her earnestness in

seeking to bring others to Christ. One with more thankful humility

never lived. She was always so very grateful for the least favor or

kindness done her, and seemed ever to bear them in mind. She was

exceedingly thoughtful for other people, never seemed to think evil

of any one, and never failed to find kindly excuses for one's conduct

if excuses were possible. After the burning of the seminary building,

the senior class, of which Nannie was one, finished their studies in a

house secured for that purpose. Then followed the sorrowful days of

'62, that broke up so many homes, ours among others. Some time after,

Nannie wrote this: "It is a little more than a year since we left our

dear old homes. I wonder if our paths will ever lie so near together

again as they have in times past. Who can tell? But though we may

_seem_ to be far apart, we trust we are journeying to the same place,

and we shall meet _there_."

During the months that Nannie's mother waited to be released from

earthly suffering, the daughter spared none of her strength to do what

she could for the faithful, patient mother. After there was nothing

more to do on earth for that mother, then indeed Nannie felt the

effects of the long strain on body and mind. Even then her nights were

painful and unresting. But, after recruiting a little, she entered

upon the work to which her thoughts had often turned, that of

uplifting the Dakota women and children. In 1873, "she joined her

brother, Rev. J. P. Williamson, in missionary labor, at Yankton

agency, Dakota Territory, under the Presbyterian Board of Foreign

Missions, and continued in it until her death, November 18, 1877."

"Her knowledge of the Scriptures was such that the minister scarcely

needed any other concordance when she was by, and during her last

illness every conversation was accompanied with Scripture quotations.

"Notwithstanding her physical weakness, she taught school and did much

other work; and, as all was consecrated to the Lord, we are sure she

has much fruit in glory. Many in the Sabbath-schools of Traverse and

St. Peter received lessons from her, whose impression will last to

eternity."

In the spring of 1876, she went to Ohio on the occasion of a reunion

of the first five graduating classes of the W. F. Seminary, Oxford,

Ohio. She desired with great desire to meet her class-mates, and the

beloved principal, Miss Helen Peabody; and also to visit relatives,

among them two aged aunts, one of whom crossed over to the other side

a little before her. She took great delight in her visit, and yet her

nights were wearisome, and she was probably not entirely comfortable

at any time. But she did not complain.

On her last visit home her face bore the impress of great suffering.

It was with difficulty she could raise either hand to her head, and

could only sleep with her arms supported on pillows. They would fain

have kept her at home, but she longed to do what she could as long as

she could. So she went back, taught in the school, visited the sick,

read from the Bible in the tents, and prayed. In her last illness some

of these women came and prayed with her, and so comforted her greatly.

She did not forget her brother's children, in her anxiety for the

heathen around them, and they will long remember Aunt Nannie's

prayerful instructions.

With so little strength as she had, it was not strange that, when

fever prostrated her, she could not rally again. So she lay for nearly

eight weeks, suffering much, but trusting much also. At times she

hoped to be able to work again for the women, if the Lord willed. But

when she knew that her earthly life was nearly ended, she sent this

message to her aunt: "Do not grieve, dear aunt, Though I had desired

to do much for these women and girls, the prospect of heaven is very

sweet." For a while she had said now and then: "I wonder how long I

shall have to lie here and wait," but one day she remarked, "I do not

feel at all troubled now about how long I may have to wait: Jesus has

taken that all away." When any one came in to see her, she said a few

words, and as the school children were gathered around her one day she

talked to them a little while for the last time. Two days before her

death, she dictated a letter to her father, who had himself been very

near death's door, but was recovering: "I do rejoice that God has

restored you to health again. I trust that years of usefulness and

happiness may still be yours. I am gaining both in appetite and

strength. I feel a good deal better." But the night that followed was

a sleepless one, and the next day she suffered greatly. About dark her

brother said to her, "You have suffered a great deal to-day." She

answered, "Yes, but the worst is over now." He said, "Jesus will send

for you," and she replied, "Yes, I think he will, for he says, 'I will

that they also, whom thou hast given me, be with me where I am.'"

She spoke now and then to different ones, a word or two, asked them to

read some Scripture texts from the "Silent Comforter" that hung where

she could always see it, wanted it to be turned over, and, with her

face to the wall, she seemed to go to sleep. She so continued through

the night, her breath growing fainter and fainter. And at day-break on

the morning of the Sabbath the other life began. "_That is the

substance, this the shadow; that the reality, this the dream._"

JULIA LA FRAMBOISE.

Julia A. La Framboise was the daughter of a French trader and of a

Dakota mother. When nine years of age, her father placed her in Mr.

Huggins' family. In that Christian home she learned to love her

Saviour, and, one year later, covenanted forever to be his. Her father

was a Catholic, and would have preferred that his daughter remain in

that church, but allowed her to choose for herself. His affection for

her and hers for him was very strong.

After her father's death, Julia determined to use her property in

obtaining an education. She spent two years in the mission school at

Hazelwood, then going to the W. F. Seminary, Oxford, Ohio, and for a

short time to Painesville, Ohio, and afterward to Rockford, Ill.

Having taken a full course of study there, she returned to Minnesota

as a teacher.

Our mother had a warm affection for Julia, as indeed for each of the

others of whom we write. Julia called our house one of her homes, and,

whenever with us, she took a daughter's share in the love and labor of

the household.

A story of my mother's childhood illustrates the spirit of benevolence

by which she influenced Miss La Framboise among others. Her surviving

sister, Mrs. Lucretia S. Cooley, writes:--

"When the first missionaries from the vicinity of my early home, Mr.

and Mrs. Richards of Plainfield, went to the Sandwich Islands, sister

Mary was a little girl. She was deeply impressed by the story of the

wants of the children, as portrayed by Mr. Richards, and expressed a

strong desire to accompany him. She had just learned to sew quite

nicely. Looking up to mother, she said, 'I could teach the little

girls to sew.' Here was the missionary spirit. Those who go to the

Indians, to the islands of the sea, to Africa, must needs be ready to

teach all things, doing it as to the Lord."

When the call to teach among her own people came, Miss La Framboise

gladly embraced the opportunity, laboring for them in season and out

of season for two short years. Her health failing, she was taken to

her old home in Minnesota, where she died, September 20, 1871, but

twenty-eight years of age.

Mrs. Holtsclaw, one of her girlhood friends, went to her in that last

sickness. She wrote: "I was with her when she died. It was beautiful

to see the steady care and gentle devotion of her step-mother, of the

rest of the family, and of the neighbors."

Miss La Framboise was thoroughly educated, thoroughly the lady; always

loyal to her people, even when they were most hated and despised;

always generous in her deeds and words; always to be depended upon.

Oh, could we but have kept her to work many years for the ennobling

and Christianizing of the Dakotas!

Bring lilies of the prairie for this grand-daughter of a

chieftain--ay, more, this daughter of the King!

I. R. W.

THE FAMILY REUNION.--1879.

Eighteen years had gone by since the family were all together on

mission ground. That was in the summer of 1861. In the summer of 1858,

Alfred had graduated at Knox College, Illinois; and Isabella returned

with him from the Western Female Seminary, Ohio. They gladly arrived

at home, in borrowed clothes, having trod together "the burning deck"

of a Mississippi River steamboat. All were together then. That fall,

Martha went to the Western Female Seminary, and was there when the

school building was burned in 1860. After that she came home, and

Isabella went back to graduate. In the meantime, Alfred had become a

member of the Theological Seminary of Chicago. And so it happened that

all were not at home again together until the summer of 1861. Then

came the Sioux outbreak, and the breaking-up of the mission home.

Though a new home was made at St. Anthony, and then at Beloit, it

never came to pass that all were together at any one time.

Then new home centres grew up. Alfred was married in June, 1863.

Isabella was married in February, 1866, and very soon sailed for

China. Martha was married in December of the same year, and went to

live in Minnesota. The dear mother went to the Upper Home in March,

1869. Alfred moved to the mission field at Santee Agency, Nebraska, in

June, 1870. Anna was married in October of the same year and moved to

Iowa. While Martha, the same autumn, removed to open the Missionary

Home at the Sisseton Agency. In May, 1872, a new mother came in, to

keep the hearthstone bright at the Beloit home. In February of 1872,

Thomas went to Fort Sully to commence a new station, and was married

in December of the same year. Meanwhile Henry, Robert, and Cornelia

were growing up to manhood and womanhood, and getting their education

by books and hard knocks. Henry was married in September, 1878, and

Robert was tutor in Beloit College, and Cornelia a teacher in the

Beloit city schools.

At these new home centers children had been growing up. At Kalgan,

China, there were _six_; at Santee, Neb., _five_; at Sisseton, D. T.,

_four_; at Vinton, Iowa, _three_, and at Fort Sully, D. T., _one_.

Another sister had also come at the Beloit home.

And now the Chinese cousins were coming home to the America they had

never seen. So it was determined that on their arrival there should be

a family meeting. But where should it be? Every home was open and

urged its advantages. But Santee Agency, Nebraska, united more of the

requisite conditions of central position and roomy accommodations.

And, besides, it was eminently fitting that the meeting should be held

on missionary ground. And so from early in July on to September the

clan was gathering.

First came Rev. Mark Williams and Isabella, with their six children,

fresh from China, finding the Santee Indian reservation the best place

to become acclimated to America gradually. Father Riggs and Martha

Riggs Morris, with three of her children, from Sisseton Agency,

arrived the 18th of August. On the 27th came Anna Riggs Warner, with

her three children, from Vinton, Iowa. Mother Riggs with little Edna

arrived on the 29th, from Beloit, Wis. Mr. Wyllys K. Morris and Harry,

their eldest son, came across the country by wagon, and drove in

Saturday evening, the 30th of August. Thomas L. Riggs and little

Theodore, with Robert B. Riggs, and Mary Cornelia Octavia Riggs, and

their caravan, did not arrive from Fort Sully until Tuesday afternoon

of the 2d of September. Alfred L. and Mary B. Riggs, and Henry M. and

Lucy D. Riggs were of course already there, as they were at home, and

the entertainers of the gathering.

Now the family were gathered, and this is the _Roll_:--

Stephen Return Riggs, born in Steubenville, Ohio, March 23, 1812;

married, February 16, 1837, to Mary Ann Longley, who was born November

10, 1813, in Hawley, Mass., and died March 22, 1869, in Beloit, Wis.

I. Alfred Longley Riggs, born at Lac-qui-parle, Minn., December 6,

1837; married June 9, 1863, to Mary Buel Hatch, who was born May 20,

1840, at Leroy, N. Y.

Children: Frederick Bartlett, born at Lockport, Ill., July 14, 1865;

Cora Isabella, born at Centre, Wis., August 19, 1868; Mabel, born at

Santee Agency, Nebraska, September 11, 1874; Olive Ward, born at

Santee Agency, Nebraska, June 13, 1876; Stephen Williamson, born at

Santee Agency, Nebraska, April 28, 1878.

II. Isabella Burgess Riggs, born at Lac-qui-parle, Minn., February 21,

1840; married February 21, 1866, to Rev. W. Mark Williams, who was

born October 28, 1834, in New London, Ohio.

Children: Henrietta Blodget, born at Kalgan, China, September 25,

1867; Stephen Riggs, born at Kalgan, China, August 22, 1870; Emily

Diament, born at Kalgan, China, May 26, 1873; Mary Eliza, born at

Kalgan, China, August 3, 1875; Margaret and Anna, born at Kalgan,

China, May 30, 1878.

III. Martha Taylor Riggs, born at Lac-qui-parle, Minn., January 27,

1842; married December 18, 1866, to Wyllys King Morris, who was born

in Hartford, Conn., September 11, 1842.

Children: Henry Stephen, born at Sterling, Minn., June 21, 1868;

Philip Alfred, born at Good Will, D. T., August 4, 1872, and died at

Binghamton, N. Y., August 18, 1873; Mary Theodora, born at Good Will,

D. T., July 31, 1874; Charles Riggs, born at Good Will, D. T., June

21, 1877; Nina Margaret Foster, born at Good Will, D. T., May 30,

1879.

IV. Anna Jane Riggs, born at Traverse des Sioux, Minn., April 13,

1845; married October 14, 1870, to Horace Everett Warner, who was born

January 10, 1839, near Painesville, Ohio.

Children: Marjorie, born at Belle Plaine, Iowa, September 29, 1872;

Arthur Hallam, born in Vinton, Iowa, October 28, 1875; Everett

Longley, born in Vinton, Iowa, July 15, 1877.

V. Thomas Lawrence Riggs, born at Lac-qui-parle, Minn., June 3, 1847;

married December 26, 1872, to Cornelia Margaret Foster, who was born

in Bangor, Me., March 19, 1848, and died August 5, 1878, at Fort

Sully, D. T.

Child: Theodore Foster, born near Fort Sully, D. T., July 7, 1874.

VI. Henry Martyn Riggs, born at Lac-qui-parle, Minn., September 25,

1849; married September 24, 1878, to Lucy M. Dodge, who was born at

Grafton, Mass., February 29, 1852.

VII. Robert Baird Riggs, born at Hazelwood, Minn., May 22, 1855.

VIII. Mary Cornelia Octavia Riggs, born at Hazelwood, Minn., February

17, 1859.

Stephen R. Riggs married, May 28, 1872, Mrs. Annie Baker Ackley, who

was born March 14, 1835, in Granville, Ohio.

IX. Edna Baker Riggs, born at Beloit, Wis., December 2, 1874.

The sons and daughters brought into the original family by marriage

contributed much to the success of the reunion. The cousins will not

soon forget the inimitable stories of Uncle Mark. Horace E. Warner

wrote a charming letter, proving conclusively that he was really

present; while Uncle Wyllys must have gained the perpetual remembrance

of the boys by taking them swimming. Mary Hatch Riggs was the

unflagging main-spring of the whole meeting. Lucy Dodge Riggs presided

hospitably at the "Young men's hall," where many of the guests were

entertained; and the new mother, Annie Baker Riggs, won the love of

all.

It would not have been a perfect meeting without seeing the face of

John P. Williamson, the elder brother of the mission. Then, too, there

was our friend Rev. Joseph Ward, whose home at Yankton has so often

been the "House Beautiful" to our missionary pilgrims. We were also

favored with the presence of many of our missionary women: Mrs. Hall

of Fort Berthold, Misses Collins and Irvine, from Fort Sully, and

Misses Shepard, Paddock, Webb, and Skea, of Santee. The children will

long remember the party given them by Miss Shepard in the Dakota Home,

and the picnic on the hill.

It is impossible to give any adequate report of such a reunion. The

renewal of acquaintance, taking the bearings of one another's

whereabouts in mental and spiritual advance, is more through chit-chat

and incidental revelations than in any of the things that can be told.

And so we gather in as memorials and reminders some of the papers read

at the evening sociables, and some paragraphs from reports of the

reunion published in the _Word Carrier_ and _Advance_. First, we will

have Isabella's paper, the story of that long journey home--By Land

and by Sea:--

"Ding lang, ding lang, ding lang! Hear the bells. The litters

are packed, the good-bys spoken. Thirteen years of work in

sorrow and in joy are over. 'Good-by. We will pray for you all;

do not forget us.'

"Down the narrow street, past the closely crowded houses of

more crowded inmates, beyond the pale green of the gardens, on

the stony plain, and our long journey is begun.

"Eight hours and the first inn is reached, we having made a

twenty-five-mile stage. Over rocks and river, fertile lake-bed;

desert plain, and through mountain-gorge, we creep our way,

till, on the fifth day, the massive walls of Peking loom up

before us.

"Here there are cordial greetings from warm hearts, and willing

hands stretched out to help. Best of all is the inspiration of

mission meeting, with its glad, good news from Shantung

Province.

"By cart and by canal boat again away. At Tientsin we ride by

starlight, in jinrickshas, to the steamer. How huge the

monster! How broad seems the river, covered here and yonder,

and again yonder, with fleets of boats!

"We ensconce ourselves in the assigned state-rooms, and little

Anna's foster-mother keeps a vigil by the child so soon to be

hers no more. 'Farewell, farewell.'

"Gray morning comes, and the ponderous engine begins his work.

We move past boats, ships, steamers, past the fort at Taku, out

on the open sea. No one sings, 'A Life on the Ocean Wave,' or

'Murmuring Sea,' for our 'day of youth went yesterday.' The

enthusiasm of early years is gone. Instead, I read reverently

the 107th Psalm, verses 23, 31. Then with the strong, glad,

spray-laden breeze on one's face, it is fitting to read, 'The

Lord on high is mightier than the noise of many waters, yea,

than the mighty waves of the sea.' 'Let the sea roar, and the

fullness thereof. Let the floods clap their hands ... before

the Lord.' 'The sea is his and he made it.' 'The earth is full

of thy riches. So is this great and wide sea. There go the

ships: there is that leviathan, whom thou hast made to play

therein.'

"Five days, and we steam up through the low, flat, fertile

shores of Woo Sung River to Shanghai.

"Ho for the land of the rising sun! Two days we sail over a

silver sea; yonder is Nagasaki, and now a heavy rain reminds us

that this is Japan. On through the Inland Sea. How surpassingly

beautiful are the green hills and mountains on every side.

"At Kobe we receive a delightful welcome from Mr. C. H.

Gulick's family, and on the morrow we meet our former

co-laborer in the Kalgan work, Rev. J. T. Gulick. Ten days of

rest, and our little Anna is herself again. She is round and

fair and sweet, and every one laughingly says she is more like

our hostess than like me.

"Again away, in a floating palace, fitly named City of Tokio.

We glide out of sight of Japan, with hearts strangely stirred

by God's work in that land.

"One sail after another disappears, until we are alone on the

great ocean. Water, water, water everywhere.

"Our days are all alike. Constant care of the children and

thoughts of home and beloved ones keep hand and heart busy. The

events of each day are breakfast, tiffin, and dinner, daintily

prepared, and faultlessly served by deft and noiseless waiters.

We think it a pleasant variety when a stiff breeze makes the

waves run high. The table racks are on, yet once and again a

glass of water or a plate of soup goes over. We turn our plates

at the proper angle, when the long roll begins, and

unconcernedly go on.

"One day of waves mountain high, which sweep us on to our

desired haven. On the eighteenth day we see the shore of

beautiful America. How the heart beats! So soon to see father,

brothers, and sisters! Thank God. Aye, thank him too for the

manifold mercies of our journey.

"How strange and yet familiar are the sights and sounds of San

Francisco. The children's eyes shine as they plan and execute

raids on a toy store.

"There is yet the land journey of thousands of miles. By night

and by day we speed on; across gorge, through tunnel and

snow-shed, over the alkali plains, over fertile fields to

Omaha.

"At last we arrive in Yankton, and a cheery voice makes weary

hearts glad. 'I am Mr. Ward. Your brother Henry is here.' Ah,

is that Henry! How he has changed from boyhood to manhood!

"'Over the hills and far away.' Here we are! How beautiful the

mission houses look! And the dear familiar faces! Rest and home

at last for a little while. 'For here have we no continuing

city, but we seek one to come.'"

But journeying may be done much more quickly by thought, and spirit

may go as quick as thought. So here is the account of Horace E.

Warner's thought journey to the family meeting:--

"If there has seemed to be any lack of interest on my part in

the family reunion, it is only in the seeming. For my decision

to stay at home was made with deep regret, and after the slaying

of much strong desire. But, aside from the gratification which

it would have given me to see you all, and which I hope it would

have given you to see me, I do not think the idea of the meeting

is impaired by my absence. Only this--I feel as though I had,

not wilfully nor willingly, but none the less certainly, cut

myself off from that sympathy--in the Greek sense--which I stood

in much need of, and can ill afford to miss.

"I suppose you are now all together with one accord in one

place, so far as that is possible. To be _all_ together would

require the union of two worlds. And this may be, too,--shall

we not say it is so? But if the dear ones from the unseen world

are present, though you can not hear their speech nor detect

their presence by any of the senses, can not you feel that I am

really with you in some sense too? Of course, the difference is

great, but so also the difference is great between the meeting

of friends in the natural body and the spiritual body. If the

mind, the soul, constitutes the man rather than the animal

substances, or the myriad cells which make up his physical

organization, why may not I leap over the insignificant barrier

that divides us? As I write, this feeling is very strong with

me. It is vague and indefinite, but yet it seems to me that I

have been having some kind of communication or communion with

you. At all events, my heart goes out strongly toward you all

with fervent desire that the meeting will be full of joy and

comfort--of sweetest and spiritual growth--the occasion of new

inspiration, new courage, new hopes. It is not likely that

there can be any repetition of it this side of the 'city which

hath foundations.'

"So the memories of this meeting should be the sweetest, and

should cluster thick around you in the years of separation.

This much I must perforce miss. For though I do truly rejoice

in your joys, and partake with you of the gladness of the

meeting after so long a time; yet it is only by imagination and

sympathy that I make myself one with you, and of this the

future can have no recollection."

Now we will let others give their thoughts of the meeting, as it

seemed to them from outside. And, first, a few words from Rev. John P.

Williamson of Yankton Agency:--

"The first week in September, 1879, will long be remembered by

the Riggs family, and by one or two who were not Riggses. From

the east and the west, from the north and the south, and from

across the mighty Pacific, they gathered at the eldest brother's

house, at Santee Agency, Nebraska, for a family reunion. It was

forty-two years last February since Stephen Return Riggs married

Mary Ann Longley and came out as a missionary to the Dakotas;

and now in his sixty-eighth year, his step still light, and his

heart still young, he walks in to his son's house to find

himself surrounded by nine children, three sons-in-law, two

daughters-in-law, and nineteen grandchildren; with himself and

wife making a company of thirty-five, and all present except one

son-in-law.

"This roll may never be as interesting to universal mankind as

that in the tenth chapter of Genesis, but it is almost extended

enough to evolve a few general truths. If we were to pick these

up, our first deduction would be that _like begets like_. This

man has certainly given more than his proportion of

missionaries. And why, except that like begets like? He was a

missionary, his children partook of his spirit, and became

missionaries. We heard some mathematical member of the company

computing the number of years of missionary service the family

had rendered. The amount has slipped our memory, but we should

say it was over one hundred and fifty.

"Our other deduction would be that the missionary profession is

a healthy one. Here is a family of no uncommon physical vigor,

and yet not a single death occurred among the children, who are

in goodly number. True, the mother of the family has finished

her work and crossed the river to wait with her longing smile

the coming children, but another ministers in her room, who has

added little Aunt Edna to the list, to stand before her father

when the rest are far away."

Next, we have the observations of Rev. Joseph Ward of Yankton:--

"Families have their characteristic points as well as

individuals. The family of Rev. S. R. Riggs, D.D., is no

exception to this. Their characteristics all point in one

direction. It is notably a missionary family. It began on

missionary ground forty-two years ago at Lac-qui-parle, Minn.

From that time until the present the name of the family head has

always appeared in the list of missionaries of the American

Board. One after another the names of the children have been

added to the list, until now we find Alfred, Isabella, Martha,

Thomas, Henry, attached to the mission; and doing genuine

missionary work, though not bearing a commission from the board,

are two more, Robert and Cornelia.

"What place more suitable for the meeting together of father,

children, and children's children--thirty-four all told,

counting those who have joined the family by marriage--than

Santee Agency, Nebraska, a mission station of the A. B. C. F.

M.

"Though not of the family, I was honored by an invitation to

attend the meeting, assured that a 'bed and a plate would be

reserved for me'; and so, on the first Tuesday of September, I

stood on the bank of the Missouri, opposite the agency, waiting

for the ferry-man to set me across. I came at the right time,

for presently the delegation from Fort Sully drove their two

teams to the landing, and in a moment more Rev. J. P.

Williamson, with his oldest daughter, from Yankton Agency,

were added to our number.

"They came from the east and the west and the north. These from

Sisseton, these from Sully, and these from the land of Sinim,

for the oldest daughter and her husband, Rev. Mark Williams,

have been for thirteen years in Kalgan, Northern China, and now

for the first time come back to see the father and the

fatherland. The personal part of the meeting I have no right to

mention. I speak only of its missionary character. The very

prudential committee itself, in its weekly meetings, cannot be

more thoroughly imbued with a missionary spirit than was every

hour of this reunion. And how could it be otherwise? All the

reminiscences were of their home on missionary ground, at

Lac-qui-parle, at Traverse des Sioux, and at Hazelwood. Did

they talk of present duties and doings? What could they have

for their theme but life at Kalgan, at Good Will, at Santee,

and at Sully! Did they look forward to what they would do after

the family meeting was over? The larger part were to go two

hundred miles and more overland, to attend the annual meeting

of the Indian churches at Brown Earth. And, besides, how to

reach out from their present stations and seize new points for

work was the constant theme of thought.

"Wednesday evening there was a gathering of the older ones and

the larger children. The father read a sketch recalling a few

incidents of the family life. The reading brought now laughter

and then tears. Forty-two years could not come and go without

leaving many a sorrow behind.

"The mother, who had lived her brave life for a third of a

century among the Indians, was not there. A beautiful crayon

portrait, hung that day for the first time over the piano, was

a sadly sweet reminder of her whose body was laid to rest only

a year ago among the Teetons, on the banks of the Upper

Missouri. Then another paper of memories from one of the

daughters, lighted with joy and shaded with sorrow, a few words

of cheer and counsel from the oldest son, and a talk in Chinese

from the Celestial member, were the formal features of the

evening.

"As I sat in the corner of the study and heard and saw, there

came to me, clearer than ever before, the wonderful power there

is in a consecrated life. Well did one of them say that if they

had gained any success in their work, it was by singleness of

purpose. 'This one thing I do' could well be the family motto.

They have not been assigned to a prominent place in the work of

the world, but rather to the most hidden and hopeless part.

But, by their persistence of purpose, they have done much to

lift up and make popular, in a good sense, missionary work in

general, and particularly work for the Indians. It is a record

that will shine brighter and brighter through the ages. Eight

children and thirteen grandchildren born on missionary ground,

and a total of one hundred and fifty-eight years of missionary

work.

"But the end is not yet. They have just begun to get their

implements into working order. Their training-schools are just

beginning to bear fruit. Most fittingly, a few days before the

gathering began, came a large invoice of the entire Bible in

Dakota, the joint work of Dr. Riggs and his beloved friend and

fellow-worker, Dr. Williamson, who has just gone home to his

rest. At the same time came the final proof-sheets of a

goodly-sized hymn and tune book for the Dakotas, mainly the

work of the eldest sons of the two translators of the Bible.

The harvest that has been is nothing to the harvest that is to

be. Dr. Riggs may reasonably hope to see more stations

occupied, more books made, more churches organized in the

future than he has seen in the past. When the final record is

made, he will have the title to a great rejoicing that he and

his family were permitted by the Master to do so much to make a

sinful world loyal again to its rightful Lord."

Martha's paper, which was read on that occasion, is a very touching

description of a missionary journey made under difficulties, six years

before, from Sisseton to Yankton Agency.

"GOING TO MISSION MEETING.

"As I sit on the doorsteps in the twilight, the little ones

asleep in their beds, I hear a solitary attendant on the

choir-meeting singing. His voice rings out clearly on the night

air:--

"'Jesus Christ nitowashte kin

Woptecashni mayaqu'--

singing it to the tune, Watchman.

"That tune has a peculiar fascination and association for me,

and my thoughts often go back over the time when I first heard

it.

"It was in the month of roses, in the year '73, that, in

company with some of the Renvilles and others, I undertook a

land journey to the Missouri. I had with me the lad Harry, then

five years old, and a sunny-haired boy of nearly a year, little

Philip Alfred. He never knew his name here. Does he know it

now? Or has he another, an 'angel name'?

"The rains had been abundant, and the roads were neither very

good nor very well traveled. So some unnecessary time was spent

in winding about among marshes, and we made slow progress. More

than once we came to a creek or a slough where the water came

into the wagons. The Indian women shouldered their babies and

bundles as well, and trudged through, with the exception of

Ellen Phelps and Mrs. Elias Gilbert. Their husbands were so

much of white men as to shoulder their wives and carry them

across. Being myself a privileged person, I was permitted to

ride over, first mounting the seat to the wagon, holding on for

dear life to the wagon-bows with one hand, and to the

sunny-haired boy with the other.

"By the end of the week we had only reached the Big Sioux,

which we found up and booming. I was crossed over in a canoe

with my two children, the stout arms of two Indian women

paddling me over. Then we climbed up the bank, and waited for

the wagons to come around by some more fordable place down

below. While waiting, I talked awhile with Mrs. Wind, who had

been a neighbor of ours on the Coteau. Her lawful husband, a

man of strong and ungoverned passions, had grown tired of her

and taken another woman. So Mrs. Wind, who had borne with his

overbearing and his occasional beatings, quietly left him. This

was an indignity her proud spirit could not brook. She went to

the River Bend Settlement to live with her son, and there I saw

her. I said to her, 'Shall you go back to the hill country?'

'No,' she said; 'the man has taken another wife, and I shall

not go.' I have since heard of her from time to time, and she

still remains faithful.

"The Sabbath over, we went on again re-inforced by the

delegation from Flandreau. Reaching Sioux Falls in the

afternoon, we avoided the town, and went on to a point where

some one thought the river might be fordable. But alas! we

found we had been indulging in vain expectations. The river

was not fordable, and canoe or ferry-boat there was none. But

necessity is the mother of invention. The largest and strongest

wagon-box was selected, the best wagon-cover laid on the

ground, the boat lifted in, and, with the aid of various ropes,

an impromptu boat was made ready. Long ropes were tied securely

to either end, poles laid across the box to keep things out of

the water, and then the boat was launched. The men piled in the

various possessions of different ones and as many women and

children as they thought safe. Then four of the best swimmers

took the ropes and swam up the river for quite a distance,

coming down with the current, and so gaining the other shore.

This occupied some time, and was repeated slowly until night

came on, finding the company partly on one side and partly on

the other. The wagon, in which we had made our bed o' nights,

not being in a condition for sleeping in, as the box lay by the

river-side all water-soaked, Edwin Phelps and Ellen, his wife,

kindly vacated theirs for our benefit, themselves sleeping on

the ground. When the early morning came, the camp was soon

astir, and, breakfast being hastily despatched, the work of

crossing over was renewed. I watched them drive over the

horses; the poor animals were very loath to make a plunge, and

some of them turned and ran back on the prairie more than once

before they were finally forced into the water. When most of

the others were over it came my turn to cross. The so-called

boat looked rather shaky, but there was nothing to do but to

get in and take one's chance. So I climbed in, keeping as well

as I could out of the water, which seemed to nearly fill the

wagon-box. Some one handed the two children in, and, holding

tightly to them, I resigned myself to the passage. At one time

I heard a great outcry, but could not distinguish any words,

and so sat still, unconscious that one of the ropes had broken,

rendering the boat more unsafe still. At last I was safely

over, thankful enough. When finally every thing and everybody

were across, and the boat restored to its proper place, we

started on our way, at about ten o'clock in the morning. To

make up for the late starting, the teams were driven hard and

long, and the twilight had already gathered when we stopped for

the night. After I had given my children a simple supper, and

they were hushed to sleep, I looked out on the picturesque

scene. The great red moon was rising in the sky, and in its

light the travelers had gathered around the camp-fire for

their evening devotions. As I walked across to join them, they

were singing:--

"'Jesus Christ, nitowashte kin

Woptecashni mayaqu'--

"Jesus Christ, thy loving kindness

Boundlessly thou givest me'--

to the tune Watchman. It struck my fancy, and I seldom hear it

now without thinking of that night, and of the sunny-haired boy

who was then taking his last earthly journey, and who has all

these years been learning of the goodness of the Lord Jesus

Christ in all its wonderful fulness. An incident of one day's

travel remains clear in my mind. The lad Harry often grew tired

and restless, as was not strange, and so sometimes he was

somewhat careless too. In an unguarded moment, he fell out, and

one of the hind wheels passed over his body. How I held my

breath until the horses could be stopped and the boy reached!

It seemed a great marvel that he had received no injury. It was

surely the goodness of the Lord that had kept him from harm.

"On Wednesday we came into Yankton, where I bought a quantity

of beef, wishing to show my appreciation of the labors of the

men in our behalf. So when camp was made at night the women had

it to make into soup, and, almost before it seemed that the

water could have fairly boiled, all hands were called to eat of

it, and it was despatched with great celerity.

"The next afternoon a fierce storm broke over us, and we were

compelled to stop for an hour or more, while the rain poured

down in torrents and the heavens were one continual flame of

light. When again we started on, every hole by the road-side

had become a pool, and the water was rushing through every low

place in streams. The rain retarded our progress greatly, yet

we came in sight of the Yankton Agency before noon of the next

day. Just as we reached it, we found a little creek to cross,

where a bridge had been washed away the night before. The banks

were almost perpendicular, and we held our breath as we watched

one team after another go down and come up, feeling sure that

some of the horses would go down and _not_ come up again. But,

to our great relief, all went safely over. And very soon we had

arrived at the mission house occupied by Rev. J. P. Williamson

and family, and were receiving the kindly welcomes of all. The

hospitality there enjoyed was such as to make us almost forget

our tedious journey thitherward.

"From my traveling companions I had received all possible

kindness, yet in many ways I had found the journey quite

trying. It was not practicable to vary one's diet very much,

with the care of the little ones just large enough to get into

all mischief imaginable. So I remembered with especial

gratitude Edwin and Ellen Phelps, who used now and then, at our

stopping-places, to _borrow_ the boy, so helping me to get a

little rest or to do some necessary work which would otherwise

have been impossible. At that time Edwin and his wife had no

children, and their eyes often followed my boy with yearning

looks. Since then the Lord has given them little ones to train

for his kingdom, and they are happy.

"But of that little sunny-haired baby boy we have naught but a

memory left--and this consolation:--

"'Christ, the good Shepherd, carries my lamb to-night,

And that is best.'

"And this:--

"'Mine entered spotless on eternal years,

Oh, how much blest!'"

During the meeting the tastes and needs of the children were not

forgotten, but Aunt Anna held them attent to her memories of the old

home-life, written for the grandchildren.

"Shut your eyes, and see with me the home place at

Lac-qui-parle--a square house with a flat roof, a broad stone

step before the wide-open door--cheery and sunshiny within.

Welcome to grandfather's home!

"To the right, in the distance, is the lake Mdeiyedan, where,

like a tired child, the sun dropped his head to rest each

night. Between us and the lake was a wooded ravine, at the

foot of which, down that little by-path, was the coolest of

springs, with wild touch-me-nots nodding above it, and a little

further on a large boulder on which we used to play.

"It seems to us as if we had but just come in from a long

summer's walk, with our hands full of flowers, and each and

every one must have a bouquet to set in his or her favorite

window. The wind, blowing softly, brings with it a breath of

sweet cleavers, and--well, so I must tell you what I remember.

"I can not stop to tell you of all the little things that made

our home pleasant and lovely in our eyes; or of the dear mother

who had it in her keeping, for I know all the grandchildren are

waiting for their stories.

"Well, I will begin by telling the wee cousins about the family

cat, Nelly Bly, and one of her kittens, Charlotte Corday.

Kittens have some such cunning ways, you know, but Nelly Bly

was one of the knowingest and best. She and her kitten were as

much alike as two peas in a pod--jet-black, and with beautiful

yellow-green eyes. Nelly Bly used to curl herself up to sleep

in grandpa's fur cap, or sometimes in grandma's work-basket;

and if she could do neither, she would find a friendly lap. One

day poor pussy chose much too warm a place. Grandma had started

up the kitchen fire, and was making preparations for dinner

when she heard pussy mewing piteously--as she thought, in some

other room. She went to the doors one by one to let pussy in,

and no pussy appeared, but still she heard her mewing as if in

pain. What could grandma do? She was neither down cellar nor

up-stairs. She would look out-of-doors--but no--just then pussy

screamed in an agony of pain. Grandma ran to the stove, opened

the door, and pussy, as if shot out from a cannon's mouth, came

flying past us--her back singed and her poor little paws all

burned. I can't tell whether she learned the moral of that

lesson or not, but I know she never was shut up in the oven

again.

"Yet not so very long after, when the old house was burned,

Nelly Bly and Charlotte Corday found a sadder fate. Poor little

kittens!--we spent hour after hour searching for their bones,

but with small success, and then we buried them with choking

sobs and eyes wet with childish tears.

"Do not let me forget to tell you of Pembina and Flora, nor of

the starry host that bedecked our barn-yard sky--every calf,

however humble, was worthy of a name. There were our oxen,

Dick and Darby, George and Jolly, and Leo and Scorpio, who used

to weave along with stately swinging tread under their burden

of hay. Then Spika and Denebola, Luna and Lyra--all worthy of

honorable mention. Flora, gentle, but with an eye that

terrified the little maid who sometimes milked her,--so, with

wise forethought, a handful of salt was sometimes thrown into

the bottom of her pail. You will hardly believe it, but she

grew to be so fond of her pail that she found her way into the

winter kitchen and anticipated her evening meal. How she ever

got through two gates and two doors is a mystery still.

"And there was Pembina--how well we remember the day when

grandpa brought home a new cow, and how we all went down to

meet him, and named her and her calf, Little Dorrit, on the

spot. She was the children's cow _par excellence_, and

blessings on her, we could all milk at a time. She had several

bad habits, one of which was eating old clothes and paper, or

rubbish generally. Once I remember she made a vain attempt at

swallowing a beet, and if grandpa had not come in the nick of

time to beat her on the back she would have been dead beat.

"Our horses, too, were a part of the family. There were Polly

and Phenie, short for Napoleon Bonaparte and Josephine--Fanny

and Tattycoram (we had been reading Dickens then).

"I remember hearing our own mother tell of the ox they had when

they lived at Traverse des Sioux, their only beast of burden,

and how he used to stand and lick the window-panes, and how

when the Indians shot him she felt as if she had lost a friend

and companion.

"If these stories of our dear animal friends grow too tiresome,

I might remember about the Squill family at Hazelwood--how they

all, including Timothy and Theophilus, contributed something

every week to a family paper. I wonder if Theophilus remembers

writing an essay for--with red ink from his arm--and how

Isabella said, 'Now, be brave, Martha, be brave!' when she was

letting herself down from the topmost round of the ladder--and

how Isabella, when beheading the pope in her fanatical zeal,

split her forefinger with a chisel.

"These are a very few only of the rememberings--some of them

are too sacred and too dear to speak about--but even these

little incidents seem endeared by the long stretch of years."

Some memories of former days were _revived_ for the older children,

and _imparted_ to the younger ones, by the Father's Paper:--

I REMEMBER.

As one grows old, memory is, in some sense, unreliable. It does not

_catch and hold_ as it once did. But many things of long ago are the

things best remembered. Often there is error in regard to dates. The

mind sees the things or the events vividly, but the surroundings are

dim and uncertain. What is aimed at in this paper is to gather up, or

rather select, some events lying along the family line and touching

personal character.

The family commences with the mother. I remember well my first visit

to Bethlehem, Ind., where I first met Mary, with whom I had been

corresponding, having had an introduction through Rev. Dyer Burgess.

That was in the spring. My second visit to the same place was in the

autumn of 1836, when the school-mistress and I went on to New England

together.

FIRST VISIT TO MASSACHUSETTS.

Of that journey eastward, and the winter spent in Hawley, I should

naturally remember a good many things: How when the stage from Albany

and Troy put us down in Charlemont, we hired a boy with a one-horse

wagon to carry us six miles to Hawley. But when we came to going up

the steep, rough, long hill, such as I had never climbed before, the

horse could only scramble up with the baggage alone. How we reached

the Longley homestead in a real November storm, only a few days before

Thanksgiving, and were greeted by the grandparents, ninety years old,

and by the father and mother and brothers and sisters--all of whom,

except Moses, have since gone to the other side. How only a day after

our arrival I was waited upon by a committee of the West Hawley

church, and engaged to preach for them during the winter. How every

Saturday I walked down to Pudding Hollow and preached on Sabbath, and

usually walked up on Monday, when I did not get snowed in. How the

first pair of boots I ever owned, bought in Ohio, proved to be too

small to wade in snow with, and had to be abandoned. How the old

family horse had a knack of turning us over into snow-drifts. How on

our first visit to Buckland, the grandfather Taylor, then about

ninety-five years old, when he was introduced to Mary Ann's future

husband, a young minister from the West, asked, "Did you ever think

what a good horseman Jesus Christ was? Why, he rode upon a colt that

had never been broke." How the old meeting-house on the hill, with its

square pews and high pulpit, creaked and groaned in the storm of our

wedding day, February 16, 1837. How we left in the first days of

March, when the snow-drifts on the hills were still fifteen feet deep.

March, April, May passed, and the first day of June we landed at Fort

Snelling, in the land of the Dakotas.

When another three moons were passed by, and we had seen St. Anthony

and Minnehaha, and made some acquaintance with the natives, I remember

we took passage, with our effects, on board a Mackinaw boat for

Traverse des Sioux. The boat was in command of Mr. Prescott, who

accommodated us with tent-room on the journey, and made the week pass

comfortably for us. From Traverse des Sioux to Lac-qui-parle we had

our first experience of prairie traveling and camping. It was

decidedly a new experience. But we had the company of Dr. Williamson

and Mr. G. H. Pond, while we commenced to learn the lesson.

AT LAC-QUI-PARLE.

The long, narrow room, partly under the roof, of Dr. Williamson's log

house, which became our home for nearly five years from that

September, is one of the memories that does not fade.

On the 6th of December I remember coming home from Mr. Renville's,

where we had been all the afternoon obtaining translations. Then there

was hurrying to and fro, and the first baby came into our family of

two. From that time on we were three, and the little Zitkadan-Washta,

as the Indians named him, grew as other children grow, and did what

most children don't do, _viz._, learn to go _down_ stairs before he

did _up_, because we lived upstairs, and all children can manage to go

away from home, when they can't or won't come back of themselves.

In those years our annual allowance from the treasury of the board was

$250. This was more than the other families in the mission had

proportionally. But it required considerable economy and great care in

expenditure to make the ends meet. Not knowing the price of quinine,

and thinking four ounces could not be a great amount, we were much

surprised to find the bill $16. But Dr. Turner of Fort Snelling kindly

took it off our hands.

Once we were discussing the question of how much additional expense

the baby would be, when I said, "About two dollars." Thereafter Mr. S.

W. Pond, who was present at the time, called the boy "Mazaska nonpa."

A PLEASANT TRIP.

In the second month of 1840, our _three_ became _four_. And when the

leaves came out and the flowers began to appear, the mother had a

great desire to go somewhere. But the only place to go was to Fort

Snelling. And so, leaving Chaskay and taking Hapan, we crossed the

prairie to the Traverse des Sioux in company with Mr. Renville's

caravan. The expectation was that the fur company's boat would be

there. But it was not; nor even a canoe, save a little leaky one,

which barely aided us in crossing the St. Peters. The journey through

the Big Woods was over logs and through swamps and streams for

seventy-five miles. We had two horses but no saddle. Our tent and

bedding and such things as we must have on the journey were strapped

on the horses. The mother rode one,--not very comfortable, as may be

supposed,--but the baby girl had a better ride on a Dakota woman's

back. At the end of ten miles, "le grand canoe" was found, in which

they took passage. That ten miles was destined to be remembered by our

return also; for there where the town of Le Sueur now stands our bark

canoe finally failed us, and, without an Indian woman to carry the

baby, we walked up to the Traverse, through the wet grass. Altogether,

that was a trip to be remembered.

One other thing comes to my mind about our first "little lady." There

was only one window in our upstairs room. On the outside of that the

mother had a shelf fixed to set out milk on. One morning, when every

one was busy or out, the little girl, not two years old, climbed out

of the window and perched herself on that shelf. It gave us a good

scare.

JOURNEY TO NEW ENGLAND.

In the first month of 1842 our family of _four_ was increased to

_five_. And when the summer came on, we took a longer journey, which

extended to New England. This time Hapan was left behind and

Hapistinna and Chaskay were the companions of our journey. The

grandmother in Hawley saw and blessed her grandchild namesake Martha

Taylor. "Good Bird" says he remembers picking strawberries in the

Hawley meadow, where his uncle Alfred was mowing, in those summer

mornings.

NEW STATION AT TRAVERSE DES SIOUX.

A whole year passed, and we came back to the land of the Dakotas, to

make a new home at Traverse des Sioux, to experience our first great

sorrow, and to consecrate our Allon-bach-uth for the noble brother

Thomas Lawrence Longley. That was a garden of roses, but a village of

drinking and drunken Sioux; and more of trial came into our life of a

little more than three years spent there than in any other equal

portion. There our _Wanskay_ was born, and started in life under

difficulties. Our family of _five_ had now become _six_. Provisions of

a good quality were not easily obtained. But it happened that wild

rice and Indian sugar were abundant, and the laws of heredity visited

the sins of the parents on our third little lady child. But, with all

the disadvantages of the start, the little "urchin" grew, and grew,

like the others.

SENT BACK TO LAC-QUI-PARLE.

Trouble and sorrow baptize and consecrate. The many trials attendant

upon commencing our station at Traverse des Sioux and the oaks of

weeping there had greatly endeared the place to the mother; and when,

in September of 1846, the mission voted that we should go back to

Lac-qui-parle, she could not see that it was duty, and went without

her own consent. It was a severe trial. In a few months she became

satisfied that the Lord had led us. What of character the boy _Hake_,

who was born in the next June, inherited from these months of sadness,

I know not, but as he came along up, we called him a "Noble Boy." The

family had then reached the sacred number _seven_.

In the year that followed we built a very comfortable

frame-house--indeed, two of them--one for Mr. Jonas Pettijohn's

family--comfortable, except that the snow would drift in through the

ash shingles. Some of the older children can, perhaps, remember times

when there was _more snow inside than outside_. We were up on the

hill, and not under it, where Dr. Williamson and Mr. Huggins had built

a dozen years before; and consequently the winter winds were fiercer,

though we all thought the summers were pleasanter. In this house our

_sixth_ child was born, who has no Dakota cognomen. We shall call him

Ishakpe. The half-dozen years in which we made that house our home

were full of work, broken in upon by a year spent in the East--myself

in New York City chiefly. Henry, who could say to enquirers, "I was

two years old last September," and Isabella were with their mother in

Massachusetts and Brooklyn--Martha and Anna in the capital of

Minnesota, and Thomas at the mission station of Kaposia; Alfred, I

believe, was at Galesburg, Ill.

EDUCATING THE CHILDREN.

It has been a question that we often discussed, "How shall we get our

children educated?" The basis of allowance from the treasury of the

board had been on the principle of the Methodist circuit riders. The

$250 with which we commenced was increased $50 for each child. So that

at this time our salary was either $500 or $550. It was never greater

than the last sum until after the outbreak in 1862. We lived on it

comfortably, but there was very little margin for sending children

away to school. And now we were reaching that point in our family

history when a special effort must be made in that direction. Before

we went on East in 1851, the mother and I had talked the matter

over--perhaps some good family would like to take one of the children

to educate. And so it was, more than one good offer was received for

the little boy Henry. But our hearts failed us. Mrs. Minerva Cook of

Brooklyn said to me, "You are afraid we will make an Episcopalian of

him." So near was he to being a bishop!

MISSION HOUSE BURNED.

Many remembrances have to be passed over. The last picture I have of

those mission houses at Lac-qui-parle is when, on the 3d of March,

1854, they were enveloped in fire. The two little boys had been down

cellar to get potatoes for their mother, and, holding the lighted

candle too near to the dry hay underneath the floor, the whole was

soon in a conflagration, which our poor efforts could not stop. The

houses were soon a heap of ashes, and the meat and many of the

potatoes in the cellar were cooked. The adobe church was then our

asylum, and the family home for the summer.

BUILD AT HAZELWOOD.

While occupying the old church and making preparations to rebuild,

Secretary S. B. Treat visited us. After consultation, our plans were

changed, and we erected our mission buildings at Hazelwood,

twenty-five miles further down the Minnesota, and near to Dr.

Williamson's and the Yellow Medicine Agency. During the eight years

spent there, many things connected with the family life transpired.

First among them worthy to be noted was the rounding out of the number

of children to _eight_--"Toonkanshena," so called by the Indians--just

why, I don't know--and Octavia the Hakakta. In those days our Family

Education Society had to devise ways and means to keep _one_ always,

and sometimes _two_, away at school. By and by, Zitkadan-Washta

graduated at Knox College, and Hapan and Hapistinna at the Western

Female Seminary and College Hill respectively. How we got them through

seems even now a mystery. But I remember one year we raised a grand

crop of potatoes, and sold 100 barrels to the government for $300 in

gold. That was quite a lift. And so the Lord provided all

through--then and afterward. Nothing was more remarkable in our family

history for twenty-five years than its general health. We had very

little sickness. I remember a week or so of doctoring on myself during

our first residence at Lac-qui-parle. Then, the summer after our

return there, the fever and ague took hold of two or three of the

children. The mother also was taken sick suddenly in the adobe church,

and Dr. Williamson and I had a night ride up from Hazelwood. At this

place (Hazelwood) the baby boy _Toonkanshena_ was sick one night, I

remember, and we gave him calomel and sent for the doctor. But the

most serious sickness of all these years was that of my "urchin" and

Henry, both together of typhoid fever. I have always believed that

prayer was a part of the means of their recovery.

QUARTER OF A CENTURY.

When the summer of 1862 came, it rounded out a full quarter of a

century of missionary life for us. Alfred had completed his seminary

course, and in the meantime had grown such a heavy black beard that

when he and I sat on the platform together, in a crowded church in

Cincinnati, the people asked which was the father and which the son.

While waiting in Ohio for the graduating day of Hapistinna to come, I

ran up to Steubenville, where I was born, and walked out into the

country to the old farm where my boyhood was spent. The visit was not

very satisfactory. Scarcely any one knew me. Everything had greatly

changed.

THE OUTBREAK.

The memories of August 18, 1862, and the days that followed, are

vivid, but must in the main be passed over. I can not forbear,

however, to note what a sorry group we were on that island on the

morning of the 19th. How finally the way appeared, and we filed up the

ravine and started over the prairie as fugitives! How the rain came on

us that afternoon, and what a sorry camping we made in the open

prairie after we had crossed Hawk River! How the little Hakakta girl,

when bed-time came, wanted to go home! How, when the rain had leaked

down through the wagon-bed all night upon them, Mrs. D. Wilson Moore

thought it would be about as good to die as to live under such

conditions! How Hapistinna and Wanskay wore off their toes walking

through the sharp prairie-grass! How we stopped on the open prairie to

kill a cow and bake bread and roast meat, with no pans to do it in!

And how, while the process was going on, we had our picture taken! How

many scares we passed through the night we passed around Fort Ridgely!

How thus we escaped, like a bird from the snare of the fowler,--the

snare was broken, and we escaped. How, when the company came to adjust

their mutual obligations, nobody had any money but D. Wilson Moore!

How those women met us on the top of the hill by Henderson, and were

glad to see us because we had white blood in us! How on the road we

met our old friend Samuel W. Pond, who welcomed our family to his

house at Shakopee!

FAMILY IN ST. ANTHONY.

The memories of the campaign of the next three months may be passed

over, as having little connection with the family. But I remember the

night when, with more than _three hundred condemnations_ in my

carpet-bag, I had a long hunt at midnight for the little hired house

in which the mother and children had re-commenced housekeeping. The

three years in St. Anthony were ones of varied experiences. Wanskay

had gone down to Rockford. Hapan and Hapistinna taught school and kept

house for the mother by turns. The three boys went to school.

The War of the Rebellion was not over, but it was nearing its end, as

we soon knew, when one day the noble boy Thomas brought in a paper for

me to sign, giving my permission for his enlistment. I had heard and

read so much of boys of sixteen going almost at once into the hospital

that I threw the paper in the fire.

WHAT WILT THOU HAVE ME TO DO?

The missionary work among the Dakotas was so broken up, the clouds

hung so heavily over it, that I very seriously entertained the

question of giving up my commission as a missionary of the American

Board, and turning my attention to work among white people. In my

correspondence with Secretary Treat I proposed a kind of

half-and-half work, but that was not approved. Finally I wrote a

letter of withdrawal, and sent it on to Boston. But the prudential

committee were slow to act upon it. In the meantime, Rev. G. H. Pond

came over and gave me a long talk. He believed I should do no such

thing; that the clouds would soon clear away; that the need of work

such as I could give would be greater than ever before. And so it was.

To me Mr. Pond was a prophet of the Lord, sent with a special message.

I wanted to know the way. And the voice said, "This is the way; walk

in it." With new enthusiasm I then entered upon the work of meeting

the increasing demand for school-books and for the Bible.

At the very beginning of the year 1865, having completed my three

months' work at the Bible House in New York, in reading the proof of

the entire New Testament in Dakota, and other parts of the Bible, as

well as other books, I returned to our home in St. Anthony to find the

mother away at the water-cure establishment. We remember that as a

year of _invalidism_, of _sickness_. But the skilful physician and the

summer sun wrought such a cure that in the autumn we removed to

Beloit. Here, with comparative health, she had three and a half years

of added life.

THE MOTHER CALLED AWAY.

Among the new things that took place in Beloit in the year 1866 was

the marriage of Hapan and Hapistinna, the one starting off for the

far-off land of the Celestials, so-called, and the other to the

frontier of Minnesota. Wanskay was then our housekeeper, and the three

boys were in school. By and by the time came for the mother to be

called away. It was a brief sickness, and she passed from us into the

Land of Immortal Beauty. It was a comfort to us that our first-born,

Zitkadan-Washta, was residing near by that winter and spring of 1869.

As I remember it, three children were far away, and five gathered

around the mother's grave. Now, looking back over the ten years passed

since that time, I seem to say:--

"My thoughts, like palms in exile,

Climb up to look and pray

For a glimpse of that heavenly country,

That seems _not_ far away."

This is a good point to close and seal up the Memories. For the rest,

a few words may be sufficient. Manifestly, as a family, God has been

with us all the way, and the blessings of the Lord Jehovah have been

upon us. Forty-two years ago we went out--two alone--into the

wilderness of prairie; and now we have become _one_, _two_, _three_,

_four_, _five_, _six_, or more bands.

* * * * *

Sabbath, September 7, wound up the precious weeks; and Sabbath evening

was the transfiguration of the whole. May its blessed memories

tenderly abide in all our hearts! For a year or more, we had looked

forward to the family meeting that was to be; but now we look back and

remember with growing pleasure the meeting that was. As the wagons

clattered away on Monday morning, they broke the charmed spell, but

each one went his own way richer than he came.

A. L. R.