Stories from Indian wigwams and northern camp-fires. By

SO short are the wintry days in those " high latitudes " where for years we toiled that on our long trips with our dogs and Indians we were obliged to rouse ourselves up from our snowy beds in the cold and dreary forests, hours before day.

Aided by the light of our camp-fire we cooked our morning meal, packed up our robes and blankets, and tied them, with our provisions and kettles, on our dog-sleds.

Before starting we sang, in the Cree Indian language, one of the sweet songs of Zion, and then, bowing at the rnercy-seat, with grateful hearts we offered up our prayers to the loving Protector who had watched over and shielded us from all harm, although our lodging-place was in the "forest primeval" and our bed was in the snow, with the temperature from forty to sixty degrees below zero.

Our last camp duty was the capturing and harnessing of our dogs, which was an easy or difficult task according to their nature and training.