e can claim a more prompt result than the following:
First you attach a stout, fine fish-line firmly to the tooth. Next
you lash the other end to the latch of the door--we do not use knobs
in this country. You then make the patient stand back till there is a
nice tension on the line, when suddenly you make a feint as if to
strike him in the eye. Forgetful of the line, he leaps back to avoid
the blow. Result, painless extraction of the tooth, which should be
found hanging to the latch.

Although there have been clergyman of the Church of England and
Methodist denominations on the coast for many years past--devoted and
self-sacrificing men who have done most unselfish work--still, their
visits must be infrequent. One of them told me in North Newfoundland
that once, when he happened to pass through a little village with his
dog team on his way South, the man of one house ran out and asked him
to come in. "Sorry I have no time," he replied. "Well, just come in at
the front door and out at the back, so we can say that a minister has
been in the house," the fisherman answered.

Even to-day, to the least fastidious, the conditions of travel leave
much to be desired. The coastal steamers are packed far beyond their
sleeping or sitting capacity. On the upper deck of the best of these
boats I recall that there are two benches, each to accommodate four
people. The steamer often carries three hundred in the crowded season
of the fall of the year. One retires at night under the
misapprehension that the following morning will find these seats still
available. On ascending the companionway, however, one's gaze is met
by a heterogeneous collection of impedimenta. The benches are buried
as irretrievably as if they "had been carried into the midst of the
sea." Almost anything may have been piled on them, from bales of
hay--among which my wife once sat for two days--to the nucleus of a
chicken farm, destined, let us say, for the Rogues' Roost Bight.

As the sturdy little steamer noses her way into some picturesque
harbour and blows a lusty warning of her approach, small boats are
seen putting off from the shore and rowing or sculling toward her with
almost indecorous rapidity. Lean over the rail for a minute with me,
and watch the freight being unloaded into one of these bobbing little
craft. The hatch of the steamer is opened, a most unmusical winch
commences operations--and a sewing machine emerges _de profundis_.
This is swung giddi