“Jack at all trades and good at some,” was the pleasant way in which Dr. Schaff put it, when some of the students in the Theological Seminary at Hartford had done up some furniture for him to send to New Haven. I have often been reminded of this expression, and especially during a short tour I lately made to Dunginess. We missionaries have to be the first part of the sentence, and we console ourselves with the hope that the latter part may sometimes be true. When three miles from home, the first duty was to stop and attend the funeral of a white man who had recently died. Forty-five miles on, the evening of the next day until late at night was spent in assisting one of the Government employees in holding court over four Indians who had been drunk; a fifth had escaped to the British side, and was free from the trial. This kind of business occasionally comes in as an aid to the agent. I seldom have anything to do with it on the reservation, as the agent can attend to it; but when among Indians, off from the reservation, where neither of us can be more than once in six months or thereabouts, it sometimes saves him much trouble and expense, and seems to do as much good as a sermon. It is of but little use to preach to drunken Indians, and a little law sometimes helps the Gospel. The agent reciprocates by talking Gospel to them on the Sabbath on his trips. On reaching Dunginess the afternoon was spent in introducing an Indian from British Columbia, who had taken me there in his canoe, to the Clallam Indians and the school, and in comforting two parents, Christian Indians, whose youngest child lay at the point of death. The next morning she died, and as no minister had ever been among these Indians at any previous funeral, they needed some instruction; so it was my duty to help dig the grave and make the coffin, comfort them, and attend the funeral in a snow-storm.