e
whether I could read or not, I confessed that I could probably make
out the meaning, and took the newspaper. The report of the fire "near
Boston" turned out to be the old news of the conflagration in Portland,
Oregon!

Disposed to devote a portion of this Sunday to the reformation of this
lively criminal, I continued the conversation with him. It seemed that
he had been in jail before, and was not unaccustomed to the life. He was
not often lonesome; he had his workbench and newspapers, and it was a
quiet place; on the whole, he enjoyed it, and should rather regret it
when his time was up, a month from then.

Had he any family?

"Oh, yes. When the census was round, I contributed more to it than
anybody in town. Got a wife and eleven children."

"Well, don't you think it would pay best to be honest, and live with
your family, out of jail? You surely never had anything but trouble from
dishonesty."

"That's about so, boss. I mean to go on the square after this. But, you
see," and here he began to speak confidentially, "things are fixed about
so in this world, and a man's got to live his life. I tell you how
it was. It all came about from a woman. I was a carpenter, had a good
trade, and went down to St. Peter's to work. There I got acquainted with
a Frenchwoman,--you know what Frenchwomen are,--and I had to marry her.
The fact is, she was rather low family; not so very low, you know, but
not so good as mine. Well, I wanted to go to Boston to work at my trade,
but she wouldn't go; and I went, but she would n't come to me, so in two
or three years I came back. A man can't help himself, you know, when he
gets in with a woman, especially a Frenchwoman. Things did n't go very
well, and never have. I can't make much out of it, but I reckon a man 's
got to live his life. Ain't that about so?"

"Perhaps so. But you'd better try to mend matters when you get out.
Won't it seem rather good to get out and see your wife and family
again?"

"I don't know. I have peace here."

The question of his liberty seemed rather to depress this cheerful and
vivacious philosopher, and I wondered what the woman could be from whose
companionship the man chose to be protected by jail-bolts. I asked the
landlord about her, and his reply was descriptive and sufficient. He
only said,

"She's a yelper."

Besides the church and the jail there are no public institutions in
Baddeck to see on Sunday, or on any other day; but it has very good
s