“The principle and foundation of the charter of Massachusetts,” wrote Charles II. at a time when he had Clarendon for his adviser, “was the freedom of liberty and conscience, not only for the Puritan but for the natives, whom the ministers might win to the Christian faith.” The instructions to Endicott as to the rights of the Indians on the far-away Atlantic coast, and their duty to them, were clear and emphatic. “If any of the savages pretend right of inheritance to all or any part of the lands granted in our patent, endeavor to purchase their title, that we may avoid the least scruple of intrusion. Particularly publish that no wrong or injury be offered to the natives.” The colony seal was a wandering Indian with arrows in his right hand, with the motto, “Come and help me.” For more than two hundred and fifty years, from our Indian tribes, as they have been steadily driven before the surging tide of civilization from the Atlantic to the Pacific, has there been the constant cry of the weaker to the stronger forces of the continent, “come and help me.” Many who will be in attendance upon your Annual Meeting have seen “Standing Bear” of the Poncas, who was wantonly and wickedly driven from his home on the banks of the Missouri by the Government, and heard him tell his simple story of wrong endured, and heard his appeal, “Come and help me.” With sublime faith that God intended all men to be free and equal, all men without restriction, without qualification, without limit, let us listen to their appeal, and respond with the best help in our power to contribute. Never before in the history of this country has there been such an awakening in behalf of the Indian. Never before such healthy sentiment for justice and fair play for the original owners of the soil over which our fifty millions of prosperous people unfurl the flag of the free. The Indian question, like the Ghost of Banquo, is at every banquet. It will not down until “Birnam wood do come to Dunsinane.” Hundreds of years of broken faith, during which ambuscades, massacres, fired Indian camps, blazing wigwams and smouldering embers of burned villages, have strewn the pathway of our march of empire, until now upon every lip is the interrogatory, What shall be done with the Indian? All the Indian asks, all his friends ask for him, is a _fair chance_. It has been well said that in good faith and good feeling we must take up this work of Indian civilization, and at whatever cost do our whole duty in the premises. We owe them protection of the property they own, endowments of money, forbearance, patience, care, education, _citizenship_. Let not another Indian be removed from his home, except as he removes himself by his own volition. Let every acre of land now occupied under treaty, or by any other document by which the United States have “ceded and relinquished” the same, be held sacredly theirs forever, unless the citizen Indian chooses to sell it.