r the Word of Life were to be visited. Do the best I could,
there were some bands so remote that I could only visit them twice a
year. In summer I went by canoe, and in winter by dog-train. After a
few wretched experiences with native dogs, where I suffered most
intensely, as much on account of their inferior powers as anything else,
I began to think of the many splendid St. Bernard and Newfoundland dogs
I had seen in civilised lands, doing nothing in return for the care and
affection lavished upon them. These thoughts, which came to me while
far from home, were promptly followed by action as soon as that terrible
trip was ended, in which every part of my face exposed to the intense
cold had been frozen, even to my eyebrows and lips.

Missionary Secretaries were amused at the requisition for dogs, and had
their laugh at what they called "my unique request," and wrote me to
that effect. Thanks, however, to the kindness of such men as the
Honourable Mr Sanford, of Hamilton, the Honourable Mr Ferrier, of
Montreal, and other friends, I had in my possession some splendid dogs
before the next season opened, and then the work went on with increasing
interest and satisfaction. With splendid, well-trained dogs, I could so
shorten the time of the three hundred miles' trip, that, instead of
shivering seven or eight nights in a hole dug in the snow, we could
reduce the number to four or five.

Those who have experienced the sufferings and hardships of camping out
in the forest with the temperature ranging from thirty to sixty degrees
below zero, will agree that to escape two or three nights of it meant a
good deal.

I found by years of experience that the St. Bernard and Newfoundland
dogs had all the good qualities, and none of the defects, of the
Esquimaux. By kindness and firmness they were easily broken in, and
then a whip was only an ornamental appendage of the driver's picturesque
costume. Of these splendid dogs I often had in my possession, counting
old and young, as many as twenty at a time. The largest and best of
them all was Jack, a noble St. Bernard. He was black as jet, and stood
over thirty-three inches high at his fore shoulder. When in good
working trim, he weighed about a hundred and sixty pounds. He had no
equal in all that northern land. Several times he saved my life, as we
shall see further on. No whip ever ruffled his glossy coat; no danger
ever deterred him from his work, when he with his marve