Jesse had a story to tell which seemed to me one of the saddest I have heard: and as I grew older I found that most all stories about people in the under world, no matter how cheerfully they began, ended sadly. It was about his brother, Harry, the story that Jesse told. Harry was married, and there is where the trouble often begins. When Jesse was in prison Harry, who was on the level and occupied a good position as a book-keeper, used to send him money, always against his wife's wishes. She also complained because Harry supported his old father. Harry toiled like a slave for this woman who scolded him and who spent his money recklessly. He made a good salary, but he could not keep up with her extravagance. One time, while in the country, she met a sporting man, Mr. O. B. In a few weeks it was the old, old story of a foolish woman and a pretty good fellow. While she was in the country, her young son was drowned, and she sent Harry a telegram announcing it. But she kept on living high and her name and that of O. B. were often coupled. Harry tried to stifle his sorrow and kept on sending money to the bladder he called wife, who appeared in a fresh new dress whenever she went out with Mr. O. B. One day Harry received a letter, calling him to the office to explain his accounts. He replied that he had been sick, but would straighten everything out the next day. When his father went to awaken him in the morning, Harry was dead. A phial of morphine on the floor told the story. Jesse reached his brother's room in time to hear his old father's cry of anguish and to read a letter from Harry, explaining that he had robbed the firm of thousands, and asking his brother to be kind to Helene, his wife. Then Jesse went to see the woman, to tell her about her husband's death. He found her at a summer hotel with Mr. O. B., and heard the servants talk about them. "Jim," said Jesse to me, at this point in the story, "here is wise council. Wherever thou goest, keep the portals of thy lugs open; as you wander on through life you are apt to hear slander about your women folks. What is more entertaining than a little scandal, especially when it doesn't hit home? But don't look into it too deep, for it generally turns out true, or worse. I laid a trap for my poor brothers wife, and one of her letters, making clear her guilt, fell into my hands. A telegram in reply from Mr. O. B., likewise came to me, and in a murderous frame of mind, I read its contents, and then laughed like a hyena: 'I am sorry I cannot meet you, but I was married this morning, and am going on my wedding tour. _Au Revoir._' You ask me what became of my sister-in-law? Jim, she is young and pretty, and will get along in this world. But, truly, the wages of sin is to her Living Ashes."