h; and I hear now it's very unsafe, full of
murders and robberies and corruption."

I did not attempt to correct this impression concerning my native land,
for I saw it was a comfort to the simple jailer, but I tried to put a
thorn into him by saying,

"Yes, we have a good many criminals, but the majority of them, the
majority of those in jails, are foreigners; they come from Ireland,
England, and the Provinces."

But the old man only shook his head more solemnly, and persisted, "It's
an awfu' wicked country."

Before I came away I was permitted to have an interview with the
sole prisoner, a very pleasant and talkative man, who was glad to see
company, especially intelligent company who understood about things, he
was pleased to say. I have seldom met a more agreeable rogue, or one so
philosophical, a man of travel and varied experiences. He was a lively,
robust Provincial of middle age, bullet-headed, with a mass of curly
black hair, and small, round black eyes, that danced and sparkled with
good humor. He was by trade a carpenter, and had a work-bench in his
cell, at which he worked on week-days. He had been put in jail on
suspicion of stealing a buffalo-robe, and he lay in jail eight months,
waiting for the judge to come to Baddeck on his yearly circuit. He did
not steal the robe, as he assured me, but it was found in his house, and
the judge gave him four months in jail, making a year in all,--a month
of which was still to serve. But he was not at all anxious for the end
of his term; for his wife was outside.

Jock, for he was familiarly so called, asked me where I was from. As I
had not found it very profitable to hail from the United States, and had
found, in fact, that the name United States did not convey any definite
impression to the average Cape Breton mind, I ventured upon the bold
assertion, for which I hope Bostonians will forgive me, that I was from
Boston. For Boston is known in the eastern Provinces.

"Are you?" cried the man, delighted. "I've lived in Boston, myself.
There's just been an awful fire near there."

"Indeed!" I said; "I heard nothing of it.' And I was startled with the
possibility that Boston had burned up again while we were crawling along
through Nova Scotia.

"Yes, here it is, in the last paper." The man bustled away and found his
late paper, and thrust it through the grating, with the inquiry, "Can
you read?"

Though the question was unexpected, and I had never thought befor