"I remember very clearly when, during the 'sixties,' Brother Alderson used to visit the settlement in which my father's family lived at Dungeness, in Clallam county, Washington Territory. He was then stationed at White River, twelve miles or more south of Seattle. There was no Tacoma in those days. To reach Dungeness, Brother Alderson had to walk over a muddy road a dozen miles or more to Seattle, then by the old steamer Eliza Anderson to Port Townsend, and then depend upon an Indian canoe twenty-five miles to the old postoffice at Elliot Cline's house. After his arrival it would require several days to get word passed around among the neighbors so as to get a preaching announcement circulated. Sometimes he would preach at Mr. Cline's house, sometimes at Alonzo Davis', and sometimes at my father's. He was literally blazing the trail where now is an highway. The first announcement of these services in the Dungeness river bottom was when a bearded, muddy-booted old bachelor from Long Prairie stopped to halloo to father and interrupt log piling and stump clearing long enough to say: 'H-a-y! Mr. Weir! The's a little red-headed Englishman goin' to preach at Cline's on Sunday! Better go an' git your conschense limbered up.' Everybody knew the road to Cline's. At each meeting the audience was limited to the number of settlers within a dozen miles. All had to attend or proclaim themselves confirmed heathen. The preacher, who came literally as the 'Voice of one crying in the wilderness,' was manifestly not greatly experienced at that time in his work--but he was intensely earnest, courageous, outspoken, a faithful messenger; and under his ministrations many were reminded of their old-time church privileges 'back in old Mizzoory,' in 'Kentuck,' or in 'Eelinoy,' or elsewhere. I remember that to my boyish imagination it seemed a wonderful amount of 'grit' was required to carry on his gospel work. He made an impression as an honest toiler in the vineyard, and was accepted at par value for his manly qualities. He was welcomed to the hospitable homes of the people. If we could not always furnish yellow-legged chickens for dinner we always had a plentiful supply of bear meat or venison. "After Brother Alderson returned to Oregon I never met him again, except at an annual conference in Albany (in 1876, I think it was), but I always remembered him kindly as a sturdy soldier of the Cross who improved his opportunities to administer reproof and exhortation. The memory is a benediction."