sight of God to take up and fulfil. At the moment while I
write I am well and strong, and not old. It is my firm intention, if
God spares me, to pursue the course which is herein detailed, but I know
too well the risk and dangers of the wilderness to feel assured that I
shall live to act out my part. I therefore write down here, as briefly
as I can, my story and my wishes, and shall give the letter with my
miniature to my darling Waboose--whose Christian name is Eve, though she
knows it not--with directions not to open it, or let it out of her
hands, until she meets with a white man _whom_ _she_ _can_ _trust_, for
well assured am I that the man whom my innocent and wise-hearted Eve can
_trust_--be he old or young--will be a man who cannot and will not
refuse the responsibility laid on him. Why I prefer to leave this
packet with my daughter, instead of my dear wife, is a matter with which
strangers have nothing to do.

"I begin by saying that I have been a great sinner, but thank God, I
have found Jesus a great Saviour. Let this suffice. I was never given
to open up my mind much, and I won't begin now--at least, not more than
I can help. It is right to say, at the outset, that I have been
regularly married by a travelling Wesleyan minister to my dear wife, by
whom also Eve and her mother were baptized.

"My fall began in disobedience to my mother. Probably this is the case
with most ne'er-do-wells. My name is William Liston. My father was a
farmer in a wild part of Colorado. He died when I was a little boy,
leaving my beloved mother to carry on the farm. I am their only child.
My mother loved and served the Lord Christ. And well do I know that my
salvation from an ungovernable temper and persistent self-will is the
direct answer to her unceasing prayers.

"I left home, against her will, with a party of backwoodsmen, my heart
being set on what I once thought would be the free and jolly life of a
hunter in the great American wilderness. I have lived to find the truth
of that proverb, `All is not gold that glitters,' and of that word,
`There is no rest, saith my God, to the wicked.'

"I was eighteen when I left home. Since then I have been a homeless
wanderer--unless a shifting tent may be considered home! Long after my
quitting home, and while staying with a tribe of Indians at the head
waters of the Saskatchewan river, I met an Indian girl, whose gentle,
loving nature, and pretty face, were so attractiv