ning. For myself--I feel that my
Heavenly Father has sent me here because there is work for me to do, and
a climate which will give me health and strength to do it. My health is
better now than it has ever been mince the day of that fall which
damaged my constitution so much as to render me one of the confirmed
cripples of the earth. But it was a blessed fall, nevertheless. I was
cast down in order that I might be lifted up. You would smile,
mother,--perhaps you'd laugh--if you saw me at my work. I'm a
Jack-of-all-trades. Among other things I'm a farmer, a gardener, a
carpenter, a schoolmaster, a shoemaker, and a missionary! The last, you
know, I consider my real calling. The others are but secondary matters,
assumed in the spirit of Paul the tent-maker. You and dear Molly would
rejoice with me if you saw my Bible Class on week-days, and my
congregation on Sundays. It is a strange congregation to whom I have
been sent to tell the old old story of Jesus and His love. There are
farmers, miners, hunters, even painted savages among them. My church is
usually a barn--sometimes a tent--often the open air. There are no
denominations here, so that I belong to none. Only two sects exist--
believers and unbelievers. But the place is growing fast. Doubtless
there will be great changes ere long. Meanwhile it is my happy duty and
privilege to scatter seed in the wilderness.

"Now, I urge you to come, because there is health for Molly to be found
on these sunny slopes of this grand Backbone of America. That is my
strongest point. If that does not move you, nothing else will! One
glance from the windows of my wooden house--this Eagle's Nest on the
Rocky Mountain Slopes--would be sufficient to begin the work of
convalescence. Woods, dells, knolls, hills, plains, prairies, lakes,
streams--with the blue mountains in the far, far distance. Oh! if I
were a poet, what a flight I would make into the realms of--of--well,
you understand me! I have no time for more. The big-bearded postboy is
growing impatient. Only this much will I add,--do, _do_ come, if you
love me. My kindest love to you all. May God guide you in this
matter.--Your affectionate son, JIM.

"P.S.--One of the members of my congregation is a celebrated hunter
named Reuben Dale. His wife is also one of my flock, and so is his
friend Jacob Strang. The manner in which Reuben got married is so
curious that I have amused myself by writing an account of