I accepted the kind invitation of my good brother, Rev. Dr. Strieby, to address you, because I do believe that if the hedges which have been builded in the garden of the Lord are ever taken away, it will be by hearty, believing work for our Saviour. The history of the North American Indians is a sad story of wrongs. You may begin far back in the days of our Puritan fathers, when Christian men marched to the music of a fife and drum, with the head of King Philip on a pole, and then after prayer, decided that the sins of the father ought to be visited on the children, and therefore sold his son as a slave to Bermuda; and you may follow down to where the saintly Worcester, a Congregational missionary, was tried, sentenced, and went to the Penitentiary in Georgia for teaching Indians to read; and so on to where a Moravian church of Christian Indians were cruelly tortured and murdered; and so on to the last of our Indian wars, and it is a dark story of robbery and wrongs--we have spent five hundred millions on Indian wars, and have killed ten of our own people to every one killed of the Indians. Thank God that by the efforts of Christian men, the heart of the Nation has been touched, and to-day willing hands and hearts are laboring for their Christian civilization. When I went to my diocese thirty years ago, there were over twenty thousand Indians in Minnesota. They had sunk to a depth of degradation their heathen fathers had not known. Friends told me it was hopeless, that they were a perishing race. I said if they are perishing, the more reason to make haste to give to them the gospel. The picture was dark, but not darker than that drawn by the pen of divine Inspiration in the first chapter of Romans. I carried it where I have learned to take all which troubles me, and at my blessed Saviour's feet I promised I would never turn my back on the Indian whom God had placed at my door, and I have tried to keep the vow. I can tell you the story of Indian missions by relating one incident. Some years ago, Rev. Lord Charles Hervey went with me to the Indian country. We had delightful services. After the Holy Communion we were sitting on the green-sward near a house. The head chief said, "Your friend came from across the great water; does he know the Indian's history?" I said "No." He said "I will tell him." "Before the white man came, the forests and prairies were full of game, the rivers and lakes were full of fish, the wild rice was Manidou gift to the red man. Would you like to see one of these Indians?" There stepped out on the porch an Indian man and woman dressed in furs, ornamented with porcupine quills. "There," said the chief, "my people were like those before the white man came."