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were numbered, and the "happy hunting grounds of his forefathers" were open before him; he had been taught to comprehend the blessed atoning sacrifice of the Divine Redeemer, and was ready and willing to depart. When the hour arrived when he was called from life to immortality, he took the hand of my mother, and in pressing it to his lips with an ecstasy of delight, and a grateful heart, his spirt fled - "That Indian had a heart." - His beautiful wife mourned for her lost one with touching sorrows - and refused to be comforted - a sorrow that made itself felt to all who witnessed it; and her gratitude to her husband's friend was scarce unequal to his: The (unclear) frequent pilgrimages to the house of that friend and laid at her feet her offerings and her tears. The unpremeditated manner in which I commence this accord of my life makes it a very rambling sort of narrative, and therefore I must again go back to relate an occurrence which came near being the cause of my death by fire. One evening after I had been put to bed and was sound asleep, one of the servants, not remarkable for her intelligence came into the room for something my mother wanted, and by some means unknown managed to set the bed clothes on fire. When she saw what she had done she very deliberately went to the door, and opening it just