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 WISSIONARY PAPER, WO. Wit. 
 
 NOTICE OF CHIPPEWAY CONVERTS. 
 
 Tue nature and excellence of the object which the 
 friends of foreign missions aim to accomplish, cannot 
 probably be shewn more plainly, than by an exhibition of 
 he character of those individuals on whom the gospel has 
 exerted its transforming power. ‘The design of this Paper 
 is to present. to the patrons of missions such an exhibition 
 
 of what has been effected, by their contributions and 
 prayers, in the case of a few Indian converts. 
 
 Such cases should be noticed, because they illustrate 
 the manner in which the grace of God searches out the 
 objects of his saving mercy, finding them ignorant and 
 far remeved from all Christian watchfulness and instruc- 
 tion, directing their way amidst the most inauspicious 
 circumstances, and at last bringing them under the sound 
 of the gospel, and renewing their hearts. 
 
 It is interesting to see how the truths of the gospel, 
 applied by the Holy Spirit, operate, when first presented 
 to minds which have grown to some maturity in ignorance 
 of them; and to observe the analogy between the feelings 
 of those under the influences of the Spirit, among the 
 heathen, and of those who are operated upon by the same 
 Spirit, in the congregations of a Christian land. There 
 is manifested the same view of the human character, of 
 the need of divine aid, of the guilt of sin, and of the ap- 
 propriateness of the doctrines of the gospel; connected 
 with the same change of external character, corresponding 
 with the new light which has dawned on the mind, 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 2 Eliza, an Indian Woman. 
 
 Such narratives also bring before the mind in a striking 
 manner the contrast between those who are without the 
 gospel, and those who enjoy its light and embrace it. 
 The effects of the change on individuals and neighbor- 
 hoods, for this life and the future, cannot be estimated. 
 The missionary and his patrons see in these converts living 
 proofs, that their work is feasible, and that God approves 
 of their labors and is co-operating with them. ‘They also 
 see the greatness of their work, which is to effect a similar 
 change in the whole heathen population of the globe. 
 
 [These narratives were furnished by the Rev. W. M. Ferry, missionary 
 at Mackiuaw, and may be relied upon as being authentic. The various 
 individuals meutioned are members of the mission family.] 
 
 
 
 Eliza, an Indian Woman. 
 Fler Life, befure Conversion. 
 
 The Indian name of Eliza was O-dah-be-tuh-ghe-zhe- 
 - go-qual, siguifying in English the Mid-way-sky-woman, or 
 the place of the sun at noon. She was born near the 
 Aunee, about three hundred miles up the south shore 
 of Lake Superior; and is by descent of the Chippe- 
 way, or, more properly, O-jib-e-way tribe. She does 
 not know her age, but is probably not far from forty-five 
 years old. 
 
 _. Being of influential connections, (her uncle a principal 
 _ chief,) she was selected to become an interpreter of dreams. 
 This took place when she was probably about 16 or 17 
 _ years old. Her merits for this rank or honor must, ac- 
 cording to their superstition, be decided by her living ten 
 days in a separate lodge, without any other nourishment 
 than a little water each night. She faithfully observed 
 the prescribed abstinence, although it nearly cost her her 
 life. Her bodily strength was almost exhausted; and on 
 being brought out of the lodge, probably from being too 
 plentifully fed, she fell sick, and did not recover for several 
 moons. And yet, of her own accord, soon after she got 
 well, she fasted nine days more. From this time she was 
 considered an extraordinary being. The clan would not 
 permit her to vork, but provided for her a wigwam of 
 
 
 
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 Eliza, an Indian Woman. 3. 
 
 distinction, and constantly supplied her with the best of 
 their every thing, both food and clothing. 
 
 She was also furnished with a large oéler skin, or med- 
 ecine sack, stored with every necessary article, either for 
 magical cure of the sick, or for interpreting dreams. This 
 sack, which she carefully preserved, was her badge of 
 honor: and in all their medicine dances she was greatest 
 among the great. One proof of which was taking the lead 
 in drinking whiskey. In this way she became so exces- 
 sively intemperate, that in one of these scenes she lost her 
 sack. ‘This was during the Jast war, at the connmencement 
 of which she came from Lake Superior, and resided on the 
 main land west of Mackinaw. Another sack was provided 
 her; but this she kept only about two years. Near this 
 time she lost one of her children, which, together with the 
 loss of her second sack, and the neglect of the Indians, so 
 dispirited her, that she abandoned herself to every vice. 
 About nine years ago she lost another child, the third of 
 four. Then for a while she listened to advice, and stopped 
 drinking, But it was not long before she was allured 
 away Into the woods by an Indian man and woman, where 
 whiskey had been previously carried, and there those two 
 persuaded her to drink with them. In this drunken frolic, 
 through jealousy, as she supposes, but without any just 
 provocation, the other woman fell upon her, and cut off her 
 nose. ‘This was the greatest disgrace, in her estimation, 
 that sie could possibly suffer. And for a long time her 
 friends had to watch her to keep her from destroying her 
 life. Once she tried to hang herself. At another time, 
 returning from Mackinaw, where she with other Indians 
 had been for whiskey, she ‘threw herself into the lake, but 
 the Indian in the stern caught her by the hair, and drew 
 her again into the canoe. After this she began to think 
 that the unknown Indian, who, as she supposed, had the 
 care of her life, was unwilling that she should kill herself, 
 and she gave up all further attempts to effect it. Having 
 but one child left, she now staid sometimes on the island 
 of Mackinaw, and sometimes on the main land, with no 
 fixed object but to get whiskey by every possible means. 
 
 The first knowledge I had of her was in the fall of 1823. 
 Soon after our school was opened to receive children, I one 
 day met her boy, and on ascertaining who he was, I went 
 with an interpreter to the lodge of the mother. A wretch- 
 

 
 
 
 4A Eliza, an Indian Woman. 
 
 edly destitute and miserable scene we witnessed. At that 
 time no persuasion could induce her to let me have her 
 son. But going the second time, and the boy himself be- 
 ing willing, she at length reluctantly gave her consent. 
 However, ina few days he ran away, and though | obtained 
 him again, yet through the winter the mother watched for 
 opportunities to get him. The following spring, more out 
 of pity than for our convenience, I employed her, first in 
 the kitchen, and afterwards at the sugar camp on Bois 
 Blanc, a neighboring island, on condition that she would 
 drink no whiskey and conduct herself properly. By much 
 counsel and care, she did so much better than my fears, 
 that I finally told her, that, provided she would be steady, 
 and do such work as she was able, she might have a home 
 with us. From that time, I believe, she never had but 
 
 three or four seasons of intoxication. 
 First Religious Impressions. 
 
 It is now about three years since her serious attention 
 to religion commenced, the amount of which for some 
 length of time was very fluctuating. While under the sound 
 of instruction she would be more or less affected, sometimes 
 to tears. For several years, during the hours of Saboath 
 school, we have had a separate school for Indian women 
 and others, mostly under the care of Mrs. F., for the pur- 
 pose of reading and explaining the Scriptures, tracts, dc. 
 It was at these meetings that Eliza was often affected; 
 though afterwards, as she says, she would throw the sub- 
 ject off, and become in a measure indifferent. Again, per- 
 haps, impressed with the idea that there could be no mercy 
 for such a creature as she was, and the thought of her re- 
 ligious state making her unhappy, she would avoid being 
 present at these meetings. Under this same impression, 
 she could not think it right for her to come with us to family 
 worship, or to the evening meetings of the females. Yet, 
 she says, she often felt so strong a desire to hear the sound 
 of prayer and singing, that she has gone to the door of the 
 room, and remained there as long as she thought she could 
 without being discovered—sometimes till nearly frozen. 
 Most of that winter passed with such uneasiness of mind, 
 that, when not daring to look to God herself for mercy, be- 
 cause she was such a sinner, she would feel it a kind of re- 
 
 
 
 
 
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 Eliza, an Indian Woman. 5 
 
 lief to overhear the worship of others; as if God might 
 possibly hear their prayers, though she was unworthy to 
 be present. 
 
 During the spring, while at the sugar camp, she says, she 
 was greatly distressed during the whole time. When gath- 
 ering sap, she often had feelings like these—‘Here | am, 
 going the same round daily from tree to tree, and can find 
 no relief—I must always carry this wicked heart, and when 
 I die be miserable forever.’—The pious Indian woman who 
 had charge of the sugar camp, used to talk some with her; 
 and after seasons of prayer, would perhaps ask her if she did 
 not fee! the importance of joining in heart with her. She said 
 she did. And though there was to her mind no prospect of 
 ever being better, yet she would, as she says, forget herself 
 and feel strong desires for mercy. After her return, she 
 thought, as she says, that every one must look upon her con- 
 dition as a hopeless one; and, as before, she often staid 
 away from meetings, because she thought herself unfit to be 
 there. Most of the following summer she spent at the farm, 
 where at times she seemed to awake to an affecting view of 
 her dreadful state, and with such feelings that she would go 
 off from the house, and pray and weep much alone: but for 
 the most part she indulged in despair, without relief. 
 
 The next fall we had unusual sickness in the family, and 
 Eliza and her son were left at the farm alone for two or 
 three weeks. They also were both taken sick; and probably 
 suffered somewhat for the want of nursing, before we were 
 aware of it, and could bring them home. In reference to 
 this tine, she says, that after she was taken sick, she 
 thought with herself, that she had found no relief to her 
 mind in our way, meaning that of Christians, and that she 
 would again try her old way of medicine songs; and that she 
 spent the greater part of several nights in songs and her 
 former Indian mummery. After she was brought heme, 
 she discontinued this; but she thinks she lost nearly all 
 anxiety about her soul, and seemed to have no feeling fur- 
 ther than to take care of Joseph, her son, as he failed. He 
 talked with her considerably, but she said she did not feel 
 it much; that she was like one who had lost her senses, and 
 nothing seemed to move her feelings. A few days before 
 Joseph’s death, he had a long conversation with her; told 
 her that he should die soon, and that he wanted her to 
 promise him never to drink any more whiskey; to remain 
 
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 6 Eliza, an Indian Woman. 
 
 with the mission family; listen to their instructions; and 
 pray every day to God; then, when she dicd, she would go 
 to God with him. At first she told him that if he died she 
 would die too. But Joseph said that was wrong; that it 
 would not be as she said when to die; but that ‘God only 
 had a right to have her die when he wished. At length 
 she promised him that she would remember and do as he 
 had requested. 
 
 During the whole scene attending Joseph’s death and 
 funeral, her behavior was singularly. calm and solemn: so 
 much so, that it was noticed by all. Many a professing 
 Christian mother might have received from her in that 
 afflictive scene, a silent, though awful reproof, for immod- 
 erate grief. When she perceived that his spirit was really 
 gone, the tears rolled, and she exclaimed, ‘My son! my 
 son!’ in Indian: but farther than this, not a "complaint nor 
 groan was heard to escape her lips. 
 
 Afier the funeral, I sat down with her, and had a long 
 conversation. Among other things I asked her, why it was 
 that she appeared as she had done: wliether it had beenso 
 at the death of her other children? ‘T'o this last she said, 
 no; and gave some account of her feelings and conduct— 
 how she had, as is common among the Indians, wailed and 
 mangled her own body in self-affliction. In answer tothe 
 former part, she said, ‘I have no such feelings now—God 
 is ‘good, and I feel that what he has done must be right.’ 
 Although she expressed no consciousness of the love of God 
 in her soul, yet she furnished comfortable evidence to my 
 mind, that her feelings were under the sanctifying influence 
 of the Holy Spirit. On the following night, as she now 
 relates, while fixing her bed, all which had passed between 
 her and Joseph, a few days before his death, rushed upon 
 her mind like a torrent, awakening at the same time an 
 impression that there was no hope for her soul: but in a 
 moment, she determined with herself to pray once more that 
 God would have mercy. For the purpose of greater retire- 
 ment, she started to go to the cellar, and while descending 
 the stairs, as if sh could go no further, she settled down, and 
 began to pour out her desires. This 1s the last distinct 
 recollection she has of any thing that took place then. How 
 or when she got back she has no knowledge. Between 11 
 and 12 o'clock, I heard a distressed noise, and lighting a 
 candle immediately, I went to her and found her apparently 
 
 
 
Eliza, an Indian Woman. ef 
 
 asleep; and upon awaking her, I asked if she was sick? 
 she said, No; and [| went back. The first that she remem- 
 bered was seeing me with a candle in my hand. She after- 
 wards, as she says, engaged in prayer again, and was then, 
 for the first time, conscious of enjoyment in the love of 
 Christ. ‘The next morning her soul was so filled with love 
 for all the members of the family, that, as she saw one and 
 another, she says, she felt that her own children had 
 never been so near to her heart as they. Now she felt so 
 entirely reconciled to the death of Joseph, that she had no 
 inclination to grieve. At times, she says, her mind would 
 recur to the scene of his death; but to use her own ex- 
 pressions literally interpreted, ‘I felt as if I was in a nar- 
 row, happy way, and if a thought came to me about Jo- 
 seph, it seemed like being drawn out of this way, and [ 
 longed to get back again immediately.’ With these happy 
 feelings towards God and Christians, she now for the first 
 time thought a great deal of her own people. ‘Oh if they 
 could only see as | do, how happy would they be.’ 
 
 Advancement in Piety. 
 
 When asked about the state of her mind afterwards, she 
 said, ‘I have always been happy in God since then. The 
 more I have had a view of the love of God in Christ, and 
 the longer | have lived, the more I have desired to love 
 him, and tolove him more and'more, and to be more and 
 more like himin my soul. 1 do not know that I have since 
 had any sorrow of soul so great as | have had for those who 
 are ignorant of God. Much sorrow I have often had for 
 them. Sometimes when going into church, or while there, 
 it has made me weep to think of those who do not love God, 
 There has never been one day, since I found peace to my 
 soul, when I did not feel that God was with me.’ The rea- 
 son which she assigns for this mercy 1s, that God will soon 
 take her out of the world, and that he is pleased to be thus 
 preparing her for his presence. ‘Every Sabbath,’ she says 
 ‘I have felt that this leaves me one Sabbath less to be in 
 this world, and brings me one Sabbath nearer the time 
 when J shall be with Christ.’ 
 
 Here, on being particularly questioned, she related three 
 instances when, for a time, her mind was troubled. A 
 

 
 
 
 8 Eliza, an Indian Woman. 
 
 year ago she was reduced quite low, and one evening word 
 was brought us that she was dying. On going to her room, 
 she was found to be very languid, but after some time re- 
 vived, so as to be able to converse. She was questioned 
 relative to her views and feelings, to which she gave an- 
 swers expressive of joy in the prospect of being soon with 
 God. She answered one of the sisters to this effect, ‘I 
 long to be gone, | want to have the time come. After- 
 wards she felt that she had expressed impatience, and it 
 grieved her exceedingly; so that she had several seasons of 
 weeping between that and the following Sabbath morning. 
 Another time to which she referred, she had gone to bed, 
 and, as she supposes, had not slept long, when she awoke, 
 and felt a desire to pray. She arose and knelt down, bat 
 had been engaged but a few moments before she drowsed. 
 This occurred again; but awaking the second time, she was 
 alarmed at herself, and feared that her love to God was all 
 dying; and so great was her distress that it banished every 
 sleepy feeling. With fears and a burdened heart, she set 
 about prayer in earnest; nor did she leave off until her 
 tears of sorrow were turned into tears of joy. Then her 
 soul was so full that she could not sleep, and the remain- 
 der of the night was spent in prayer, and joy that God was 
 with her. - , 
 
 The other instance was on an occasion when the girls 
 had made some remarks to her, from which she thought, 
 that, as she was always sick, they and the rest of the fam- 
 ily considered her as burdensome, and wished her away. 
 This made her feel unhappy for-a few hours, but before 
 night, she obtained that relief in prayer which restored 
 peace to her soul. 
 
 I afterwards put several questions to her, which follow, 
 together with her answers. 
 
 You have said that before you found peace in Christ, you 
 did for a long time—for many months—feel yourself miser- 
 ably wretched, and that you often prayed; was it for the 
 sake of these prayers that God gave you peace? or was 
 there any good in them?—‘No; it was because of Christ’s 
 pity to my soul; because he died for poor sinners; and it 
 was of God’s mercy that missionaries were sent to teach 
 me.’—Do you’ mean to have me understand from all you 
 have said, that you never had any fears that you were de- 
 ceived; no time in which you have doubted whether you had 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 Eliza, an Indian Woman. 9 
 
 a part in the Savior or not? ‘I have always felt sure that 
 God has had mercy on my soul; and the more I have 
 thought of my old wicked life, it has been like one pushing 
 me nearer to God: it has made me feel more humble tn 
 myself; and a strong desire to live only for him ’— But 
 should God take away bis Spirit from your heart and leave 
 you to yourself what do you think would become of you? 
 ‘I should be good for nothing.’—Have you any fears that 
 God will ever take away his Spirit from your soul?—‘No.’ 
 —Why!—‘From what I have heard of his word, he has 
 promised to keep those that trust in him; and I believe he 
 is faithful to his word.’ 
 
 There have been several times when in your sickness 
 you have been very low, and have had reason to think you 
 would live but a few hours or days; have you, at none of 
 these times, been unwilling or afraid to die?—‘No.’— Have 
 you always felt, that if it were God’s will, it would be a 
 privilege to die, and you would be glad to have the time 
 come? ‘Yes, 1! have. This fall, when I was very sick for 
 two days and nights, and felt that God only could make me 
 better or take me away, I thought, if it were his will, how 
 glad I should be to know that I was dying, that I might 
 be with God.”—A year ago last spring, [1828] you was 
 baptized and received into the church; can you tell me 
 any thing of your feelings at that time about the ordinan- 
 ces?—‘After I understood their design, that Christ had 
 commanded them, and why he had done it, I had a very 
 strong desire to be baptized and to receive the sacrament, 
 nor is there any thing in this world that I have felt to be 
 so great a privilege. When at the table I was baptized, 
 and promised solemnly to be for God, I really felt im my 
 heart every word, and that I was now all the Lord’s, and 
 no more for myself or for any other. I was happier 
 than 1 can express, in the privilege of being there with 
 the love of God in my heart; and when receiving the 
 oread and wine, I felt that I could not be thankful enough 
 to God for bringing me to the table once. I thought I 
 should come there no more’ but that the next time, I should 
 be at God’s table in heaven.’—You see that it has not 
 been as you thought. You have communed several times: 
 have those always heen precious seasons to your soul? 
 ‘Yes, every one of them.’— Have they been as precious as 
 the first one?— Yes: as I have heard more of the Savior, 
 
10 Eliza, an Indian Woman. 
 
 and have learnt more of his love from the Bible, I have 
 | felt each time, if possible, more and more near, and hap- 
 i py in him.’—What good do you think that baptism or the 
 
 
 
 | sacrament could do you, without a heart to love the 
 | Savior? —‘None. There would be no joy to my soul in 
 i. them.’—Could you have this joy and peace of which you 
 ; have told me, if you did not, as far as you know, strive to 
 ( obey God in all things?—‘No; [could not. Though una- 
 
 \ ble to do any thing with my hands to help the family and 
 ; to labor for God, it is my sincere desire daily to have my 
 i} heart much in prayer for them and for the salvation of their 
 souls; and because God lets me live, I believe he wishes 
 me to be devoted in spirit to this.’ —Do you think you love 
 God and souls as much as you ought?—‘No: I try to love, 
 but do not feel so much as I ought.’—When do you expect 
 to have perfect love to God and souls? At first she an- 
 swered, ‘Never;’ thinking [ meaut while in the body. 
 Afterwards she said, ‘When I get to heaven.’ 
 
 ihe eeAEERE aA tea! = 
 
 Respecting the foregoing narrative, Mr. Ferry remarks— 
 
 I have written it as taken from the woman through an 
 interpreter, and as having in part fallen under my own ob- 
 servation. I have scrupulously avoided any thing like a 
 more favorable coloring than facts would justify. The 
 statements have been read by those who have had most 
 knowledge of the subject of them, and of her exercises, and 
 they believe that the impression which will naturally be left 
 on the mind of the reader will be less striking than the 
 reality. In respect to uninterrupted peace and spirituality 
 i of mind, the case of this weman is unlike any other which 
 Tever knew. Aware that some will at once set it down 
 1” as untrue, or a delusion, f have faithfully tried, but in vain, 
 to draw from her something which would warrant me in 
 
 
 
 | truth to cloud some part of her Christian life with doubt; 
 "I but you might-as well attempt to make her disbelieve her 
 i existence, as to convince her that she has been left to go 
 
 mourning the hiding of God’s countenance from her soul. 
 She is indeed a favored child, ripening fast for glory: sick 
 Mf or well, in pain or at ease, she always meets us with a 
 placid, ‘and most commonly with a smiling, countenance, 
 She is afflicted with consumptive complaints, and for many 
 
 aaa Da TRA FSR a 
 
 a 
 Series 
 
 radiate 
 
 
 

 
 Early Life and Conversion of C. W. R. i] 
 
 months has raised blood freely: we expected that before 
 this she would have been at rest. 
 
 She was spared to remain before the mission family a monument of grace 
 and an example o! patience and ripening holiness, till Nov. 23, 1830. 
 
 At the time of her decease, she exhibited, says Mr 
 Ferry, the character of the believer triumphing in death. 
 For many months she had been almost daily looking for 
 her departure. ‘Though suffering much in body, yet she 
 was uniformly patient and happy. She repeatedly said, on 
 the day of her death, ‘I think I shall go to-day.’ At night 
 she shook hands with some of the members of the mission 
 family, and with a smile spoke of it as the last time. But 
 a-few minutes before her death, in allusion to David’s 
 words, she said she feared no evil. Surely no unbeliever, 
 observing her course down the valley, could any longer 
 doubt the reality of religion, or deny the importance of 
 carrying the tidings of the gospel to the unlettered savage, 
 
 Early Life and Conversion of C. W. R. 
 
 A MEMBER OF THE MISSION SCHOOL AT MACKINAWe 
 
 The Indian name of C. W. R. was Me-sai-ain-se. She 
 is half Indian, though by habit of life, and by language, 
 she was a full native of the wilderness, having lived far in 
 the interior, south or southwest of Magdalen Island, or 
 St. Michael’s Point, upon Lake Superior. Her home, 
 previous to entering the mission family, was about two days 
 march distant from what is called Lac Coutree. She lived 
 with an aunt, and belonged to a class, by distinction or 
 ceremonies, known as the Me-ta-we. The summer that 
 she left home, she was to have been received as a full 
 priestess or conjuress. She had gone through all the pre- 
 vious mummery, and was then on the ten days singing, or 
 finishing scene; when an uncle, who had given her her 
 name, and hence had a right to control her, arrived, and 
 said he had been told in a dream that she must not become 
 one of the Me-ta-we. ‘his was enough. All her former 
 plan of life was in consequence abandoned, and he took her 
 away. She was also, that summer, while with her uncle, 
 one of the party in the Indian dance around the scalps of 
 
 
 
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 REN SRS ARG OMNES IO SoBe AE extaa ste 
 5 nee See 
 
 12 Early Life and Conversion of C. W. R. 
 
 some whites, murdered by those Indians who were a‘ter- 
 wards imprisoned at Mackinaw. She came down with the 
 traders, and was received into the family in July, 1820. 
 She understood only the O-jib-e-way language, and was 
 probably between fourteen and fifteen years old. 
 
 At my request, says Mr. Ferry, she gave the account, 
 (which in substance had been given to us all before, ) with 
 this solemn injunction, that she would give what she knew 
 to be truth, and no more nor less.—Ilt will be seen that 
 there is something of sameness in the narrative, because 
 I have only felt at liberty, while following her track, to 
 shape her own ideas into the most intelligible Buglish. 
 From her hopeful conversion to the present time, she has 
 generally enjoyed much peace of mind. She says she has 
 seasons, when conscious of little spirituality, she has been 
 much distressed for fear she should be deceived, because 
 it was not with her as in days past: but never, she says, has 
 she been conscious of such a state of feeling, that she could 
 not say from the heart, I am ready and willing to live and 
 die fur Christ. And her whole deportment has been strik- 
 ingly characteristic of such a state of mind. She was re- 
 ceived into church fellowship, with two other girls, at our 
 communion season in April, 1823: and I presume I speak 
 but the feelings of the family, when I say, that there has 
 been no more faithful missionary to her friends and others, 
 among us thanshe. The following is her account. 
 
 ‘Two years ago the present summer, [1823] 1 began 
 first to have serious thoughts about my soul. When hear- 
 ing the Scriptures interpreted, what God says in them re- 
 specting the wicked, and especially when hearing M. [a pi 
 ous girl in the family,] praying in the native language for 
 the salvation of the pvor ignorant Indians, I first began to 
 think, ‘Perhaps I am one of those ignorant wicked ones.’ 
 And [ began to use some Catholic prayers, which I had in 
 part learnt, thinking these would do me good. But M. told 
 me these were only prayers of the mouth, and not right with 
 
 God; that God knew all our hearts; and that we must pray 
 
 from our hearts as we felt, if we hoped to have God hear 
 us. With this said to me, which I supposed to be true, I 
 used to try to pray. Sometimes I could only use a few 
 words, and did not know what was the matter with me; 
 but often, in meeting and at other times, I was distressed 
 
 _ with the thought, that | might be sent away with the wicked. 
 
 
 
Early Life and Conversion of C. W. R. 13 
 
 i can now see, that I had then no sense of the wicked- 
 ness of my heart. ‘The more I heard the word of God ex- 
 plained, and was questioned respecting it, and informed 
 that not only our actions were bad in God’s sight, but our 
 thoughts and feelings were displeasing and wicked before 
 him, the more was [ led to look at my life, and at particu- 
 lar things which I had done; and from this review, to 
 think more of my heart, that there was something very bad 
 and which I began to see was wicked, in my thoughts and 
 feelings. 
 
 “Preparatory to the first season of communion, after my 
 uneasy state of mind, while helping to prepare the table 
 service, [ was told that none but those who loved God had 
 any right or privilege at his table. I then felt as if I 
 should never be permitted to come there, as I knew noth- 
 ing of God. All the night following I lay awake, distress- 
 ed at the situation in which I began to see myself; and 
 thought, as I had lived so long without thinking of God, or 
 rather knowing that there was such a glorious Being in the 
 heavens, that he would never have any thing to do with 
 me; that I was too bad to have him think upon or help me. 
 The next day Miss O. read, and had interpreted to the 
 girls, that portion of Scripture where Christ instituted the 
 supper, and explained to us the reason and design of the 
 sacrament. Afterwards, when seeing the church around 
 the table, with all the affecting scene before my eyes, I had 
 a feeling that there was truth in these things, such as I 
 had not had before. And not only was my mind more 
 deeply distressed for myself; but seeing so many around 
 me, (compared with the small number at the table,) who 1 
 supposed must be in the same wicked and dangerous con- 
 dition with myself, my feelings of anguish became indescrib- 
 able. On leaving church, while alone in my room, the 
 thought came to my mind, ‘Why need I be so distressed? 
 there are no others who appear to feel as I do: perhaps it 
 is because these things are new to me: when I become 
 more used to them, they will not affect me so: and it may 
 be that I too may come to love God.’ 
 
 “After this, while any of the family were giving me and 
 the other girls instruction, 1 used often to think, ‘I won’t 
 let these things trouble me so much.’ And if at any time I 
 found my mind considerably excited, I would immediately 
 try to check and do away my feelings; as it were, saying 
 
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 14 Early Life and Conversion of C. W. R. 
 
 to myself, ‘It is enough for me to learn little by little: I 
 won’t be such a fool: by and by I shall do well enough, 
 when I come to know more.’ With this impression I al- 
 most neglected prayer. ‘To such a degree did I give my- 
 self up to this feeling, that for a long time it was but sel- 
 dom that I would attempt to pray, lest my mind should be 
 too much frightened or distressed. 
 
 “The next thing that troubled me was the parable of the 
 sower, which I heard read to me, and upon which I was 
 requested to meditate, and give my opinion, when I sup- 
 posed I understood the meaning. This troubled me much; 
 because, after fixing on what I supposed the way-side and 
 the stony ground meant, I thought they both represented 
 much of my heart: nor could [ resist the anxiety which the 
 thought produced. This state of mind remained and grew 
 worse for some time, until I was arrested with this thought, 
 that it might bring me to sickness, or derangement, or a 
 worse evil; and 1 determined that I would try to do as far 
 as possible what was right for God, and in the mean time 
 would avoid indulging in anxiety.” 
 
 Here she related a train of feelings, for several months, 
 amounting to nothing essentially more favorable. The nar- 
 ration exhibited a fluctuating, unhappy state; sometimes 
 awaked to anxious distress under instruction, and again en- 
 deavoring to settle into indifference or ease of mind. At 
 one time this struggle was severe, occasioned by the death 
 of a little boy in the family. At another, on the arrival of 
 her relatives last summer, Miss O. asked her why she did 
 not talk with and instruct them? Here her mind was again 
 aroused. She says she felt in keen distress for a time, 
 shuddering at the thought of showing others what to do, 
 when this condemned herself. This she thought would be 
 to look after a mote in their eye, with a beam in her own. 
 At length, when Miss M. was lying very sick, and her 
 death daily expected, she came into the room, and among 
 other things Miss M. said to her, ‘I suppose you are not 
 willing to have me die; but if you only had a good hope in 
 the Savior, it would not be long before we should meet 
 again in heaven, and be forever happy together.’ 
 
 “This,” said she, “came home to my heart. It was 
 more than I could well endure; and I resolved that I would 
 pray for mercy as long as I had life. From that time I 
 was much in prayer; and often able to get little or no rest. 
 
 
 
Early Life and Conversion-of C. W. R. 15 
 
 through the night. When Miss M. and Mr. F. were about 
 leaving home for their journey last fall, my mind was 
 deeply affected and distressed. I thought it would be right 
 in God, who had been so merciful as to send him here to 
 instruct us, and be as a father to us, to take away his life; 
 and that 1, with the other children who had not believed in 
 Christ, might never see him again. HowcanI endure the 
 thought! I will try, I will pray, and perhaps, though I 
 don’t deserve it, God will send him back and give mercy 
 to my soul, that I may love the Savior. When I saw the 
 vessel under sail, | went alone and prayed earnestly that 
 God would preserve them; and that I might, if he could 
 be so merciful, have a heart given me to improve the prov- 
 idence of taking them away. 
 
 ‘This anxiety continued. I felt after this no inclination 
 to give up prayer. I often thought how I had promised to 
 God, and were I not to do as I had promised, I should lie 
 to him; and then he would have no more mercy on me. I 
 felt this to be my last time, my only hope. My mind was 
 so pressed, that many times I could not sleep, and was 
 often compelled, as it were, to get up and seek relief in 
 prayer. 
 
 “One Wednesday evening, after meeting, Miss C. fell 
 in with me, having walked out, as I also had done, and had 
 a long talk with me: and though I did not express to her 
 any other than anxiety of mind for salvation, yet I was 
 angry. In my agony of distress and anger, I had such 
 thoughts as these, ‘‘What business have you to talk so to 
 me? it don’t concern you what becomes of my soul: you 
 have not to suffer for my sins: Why not, then, let me alone, 
 and not torment me.’ After Mrs. C. left me, reflecting on 
 the feelings I had indulged, I felt, if possible, worse than 
 ever. Although I was aware that Mrs. C. knew nothing 
 of my feelings, yet I knew they were not hid from God, 
 and must be very displeasing: surely, thought I, I am lost. 
 
 “The following Saturday evening there was a prayer- 
 meeting in the girls’ room; after which Miss C. made re- 
 marks to this amount, ‘T'hat she was afraid some of those 
 professing so much anxiety, were deceived, judging from 
 their conduct; for surely, if they were so anxious, they 
 would have given themselves to the Savior before now.’ 
 This was like a knife to my heart. Whatcan Ido? At 
 first, after going to the bed-room with M. and C., who were 
 
 
 
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 16 Early Life and Conversion of C. W. R. 
 
 also distressed, we tried to pray together. But I found 
 this was no place for me; and the whole night I spent 
 alone; now and then only awakened to keener agony from 
 hearing the sobs of M. in the opposite room. Sabbath 
 morning, leaving my room a little after day-light, I saw 
 M. standing by her bed, and with a smile on her counte- 
 nance, look at her little girl. The thought rushed upon 
 me, that she must have found a Savior; for I had never 
 seen a smile on her countenance before. [Meaning, since 
 her anxiety.] Now she is going to begin a new, a happy 
 Sabbath, and I am left with this wicked heart to profane 
 the day! For a moment, as I heard one of the girls ex- 
 claim, ‘M. has found the Savior,’ I felt disposed to envy 
 her. But no—I thought—this is making me more wicked; 
 I will try to follow her: and I left the house for the cedars, 
 designing, at the time, to spend the day there, though | 
 did not. I can give no just account of my mind through 
 the Sabbath and Monday: I can only say, I had, as it 
 seemed to me, every wicked feeling: my heart was so hard 
 I could not-weep; I could not shed a tear: it seemed a 
 perfect combat. 
 
 ‘Tuesday morning, after breakfast, Mr. H. came to my 
 room, and talked with me a good deal: he told me this 
 might perhaps be the last day the Lord would give me; 
 and why will you not submit? He explained to me many 
 verses of the Bible; and during this time my heart got 
 some feeling: it seemed to melt; and I could weep. The 
 whole of this day I hardly knew where or what I was. 
 Sometimes I apprehended that I must lose my senses; and 
 seeing the other girls so different from myself, for a moment 
 I would half resolve to endeavor to be like them; supposing 
 that otherwise I must soon be crazy. Buta reacting thought 
 and feeling would bring me back to all the keenness of my 
 agony. Before supper | was in the girls’ sewing room, 
 where Miss O. read from the Bible and talked with the girls. 
 I staid till I dare stay no longer, lest I should break out 
 in something dreadful before them, through derangement. 
 I got to my bed-room; and throwing myself on the bed, I 
 lay for some time unconscious of any thing but the fire with- 
 in: nor durst I even shut my eyes, for fear I should find 
 myself in death, actually sinking into the flames of hell. 
 
 ‘After a time, how long I don’t know, becoming more 
 conscious of my state, and collected in mind, these were 
 
 
 
Early Life and Conversion ef C. W. R. he 
 
 my feelings: ‘I have tried every way, and all in vain: I 
 cannot help myself: neither prayers nor anxiety do any 
 good: they lead to no relief. It is right, it is just in God 
 to destroy me: I ought to perish. He may do what he 
 pleases: if he sends me to hell, let him do it: and if he 
 show mercy, well: let him do just as he wishes with me.’ 
 Here, as in a moment, I had such a kind of one, or whole 
 view of myself, and a willingness to be in God’s hands, 
 that I could lie no longer, and resolved to go in prayer, 
 and throw myself for the last time at the feet of the Sa- 
 vior, and solemnly beg of him to do what he would with 
 me. Just at this time Eliza [an Indian pious woman in 
 the family, who is the subject of the preceding narrative, | 
 came and talked a good dealtome. She told me how easy 
 it was to believe in the Savior if I would; and after talking 
 some time said, ‘We will pray together.’ Here I lost all 
 my burden: I felt light: a strange feeling that I cannot 
 describe.—I had no thought that I loved Christ, but I was 
 happy; and yet afraid to be happy; was afraid to give in- 
 dulgence to these feelings: for it would be dreadful, after 
 all, it appeared to me, to go to hell with no feelings of dis- 
 tress about it! Rising from our knees, I was conscious of 
 a smile on my countenance, which I designedly concealed 
 with my handkerchief, lest Eliza should observe it. Leav- 
 ing the room, Miss O. called me to her bed room to eat 
 some supper prepared for me. I went, but could not eat. 
 Miss O. and Miss C. urged me, and asked why I refused; 
 to which I made no direct answer. When they saw that 
 I either could not or would not eat, they proposed uniting 
 in prayer, in which they each led in succession. Here I 
 was filled with that happiness which I hoped to enjoy in 
 heaven. I do not know but that my enjoyment was as 
 great as it was possible for my soul to have, arising from 
 a view of the love, the nearness, and the glory of the Sa- 
 vior. I seemed to see it, to feel it all, in a fulness of joy 
 beyond expression. At the close of prayer, my mind run 
 on this hymn, ‘Alas, and did my Savior bleed!’ and with- 
 out expressing the wish I had to hear this hymn sung, Miss 
 C. in a few moments commenced singing it. The whole 
 hymn possessed my soul in mingled joy, and wonder, and 
 love. Especially the last verses, so that I was here as 
 much lost to myself in the bliss of joy, as I had been 
 before ‘in the anguish of despair. Perhaps my counte- 
 
 
 
18 Early Life and Conversion of M. A. W. 
 
 nance told my feelings; and Miss O. asked me if I could 
 now love that Savior. I answered, I hope I do. This 
 was the first intimation I had dared to give of the peace 
 of my soul. But my joy had swallowed up all fear, and I 
 could not resist the answer. Now I had sucha love for all 
 around, as well as for the Savior, that I could have folded 
 them to my bosom. For two days following, night and 
 day, there was little or no abatement of this happiness. I 
 _appeared to be in a new world: every thing led me to God: 
 not an object did I see but seemed to say, ‘how glorious 
 and lovely is the great God.’ 
 
 Early Life and Conversion of M. A. W. 
 
 M. is a half Indian woman, of the O-jib-e-way nation. 
 She does not know her age, but she is probably between 
 twenty-two and twenty-five years old. She was born at 
 Fort William, or what is called the Grand Portage, on the 
 northern shore of Lake Superior, where she lived till about 
 four years ago. Her father was a Frenchman, and clerk 
 to one of the Hudson Bay traders. He left her mother 
 when M. was about four years old, and has never been 
 seen by her since. About ten years afterwards her mother 
 married another man, and removed with him towards the 
 Rocky mountains. M. has not seen her since. She, with 
 her brother, was left in the family of a trader, where she 
 was required to go to a priest daily to learn the Catholic 
 prayers and catechism, for the purpose of preparing to re- 
 ceive baptism. This course she continued, with more or 
 less regularity, for three years. 
 
 Having passed through various scenes, she was brought 
 into the mission family in August, 1826; sometime in the 
 following spring was the first of her being disposed to listen 
 at all to any thing said to her on the subject of religion. 
 She had been often told that prayers which were merely 
 repeated, but do not come from the heart, were guod for 
 nothing: and when she now heard Mrs. L. and another 
 Indian woman speaking of their views and feelings, she 
 felt that she had never had any sorrow for the sinfulness of 
 her heart. When questioned, she had heretofore said that 
 she never sinned against God, and she thought that we 
 
 
 
Early Life and Conversion of M. A. W. 19 
 
 must be very wicked when talking so much about a sinful 
 heart. This, together with what she heard from the word 
 of God, made her doubt if she might not be wrong, and in 
 this way she was ted step by step, until she became con- 
 vinced, and gave up her Catholic prayers. 
 
 Her own mind at length became ‘so distressed with a 
 view of herself, how she had lived, how she had fought, as 
 it were, against the truth, and the astonishing goodness of 
 God in bringing her here against her will, that often, dur- 
 ing that summer, she felt as if she knew not how to go 
 about her work, or where she was. “Being at the farm, I 
 became,” she says, “‘so bad in my own view, that I could 
 not bear to sit at table with the family; I often felt myself 
 so unworthy that I could not eat, and had to leave the 
 table. About this time Mr. H. said very little to me, and 
 
 I thought he looked upon me as a lost soul, and that my 
 conduct had been so wicked in resisting the light that 
 there was no hope for me. This, though dreadful, I felt to 
 be just and true, and thought I could not have too mean a 
 place, unnoticed by every body. Soon after, there were 
 two days in particular, that I was unable to do any thing, 
 
 I felt so strangely distressed. The second night I could 
 not go to bed at all, but spent the night in weeping and 
 prayer. It appeared to me that the Savior was hear, but 
 still I could not go to him, could not give myself to him, 
 and find peace. 
 
 “After this, I lost all anxiety about my soul; and when 
 I prayed, I had no feeling. I continued in this state with 
 no perceptible change, till at a meeting for religious con- 
 versation, [ was questioned whether I meant to lead the 
 same life I had done, or give up all for Christ: then, as in 
 a moment, it seemed as if all those former feelings which 
 had been my agony, rushed upon my mind; and-unable to 
 answer a word, I burst into tears. I remained some time, 
 after all had left the room, in great distress. There I 
 prayed, that if the Lord had not entirely given me up, he 
 would show me more and more of my heart, and give me 
 no peace until I should find it in the Savior. It was then 
 that I resolved that I would seek until I found mercy. 
 
 “On the following Saturday evening, after going to my 
 room, I lay down, but could not remain in bed: I spent the 
 time in prayer,and seemed to myself like one on a preci- 
 pice, just ready to fall, and sometimes bewildered as if los- 
 
 
 
20 Early Life and Conversion of M. A. W. 
 
 ing my reason. In the morning I threw myself on the bed, 
 with a willingness to have God do with me what he would | 
 —to save or destroy me. I saw that as I had resisted so 
 much, I had no fault to find, if he now refused to show 
 mercy. But just as if some one had laid hold of me, I got 
 up in a few moments and unconsciously knelt by the bed, 
 where, attempting to pray, I could only thank God. He 
 appeared so good, he seemed so near and so precious, that 
 I could not have words fast enough. I felt in a new world. 
 Can this be that change of which they have told me? I 
 dared not think I had found it; but I was happy. I 
 felt that I was so beyond expression. On going to the win- 
 dow, words cannot express how good and lovely every thing 
 appeared to me, as if full of God. I then concluded that 
 I would take a walk for prayer. I came down and started; 
 but often had to stop in surprise, admiring every thing 
 around me as if it were new. I could hardly believe I 
 was in the same world, and such a season of worship was 
 given me alone as I never knew till then. 
 
 When I came back, I awoke the girl who slept with 
 me, and told her 1 hoped I had found the Savior. She got 
 up, and we united in prayer. My heart was full: every 
 word came from my soul. I can say that I felt it. We 
 then went to the room where the females of the mission 
 family were. Never did they appear so to me before. I 
 could not help loving them; because, as I thought, they 
 loved Christ, and I could not refrain from embracing them, 
 and telling them that this was the first Sabbath I had ever 
 seen. They sung a hymn, and although I did not know 
 how to join with them in voice, yet I did in spirit. The 
 whole of the Sabbath I enjoyed very much, my mind mostly 
 filled with an inexpressible view of God’s goodness; and, 
 being asked by some one if I could ever sin against so 
 good a God, I answered, as I then felt, that I could not. 
 But that answer afterwards caused me sorrow. I felt that 
 I had said too much.” 
 
 The amount of her subsequent exercises shows the 
 Christian with his clouds as well as sunshine. Yet, on 
 the whole, her life manifests the growing Christian, and 
 savors much of one that lives in the spirit of prayer. She 
 was received into the church in the winter of 1828. 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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