CONUNDRUMS.

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 17, Issue 60, 31 July 1906, Page 8

CONUNDRUMS.

When may a ship be said to be in love j When she is tender on a man of war. When is she actively in love ? When she seeks a mate. When is she ambitiously in love ? When she is making up to a pier. When is she foolishly in love ? When she is attached to a great buoy. When is she absurdly in love.? When she is(h)’anchoring after a heavy swell. When is she demonstratively in love ? When she hugs the shore. When is she weakly in love ? When she rests on the bosom oi a little cove. When is she treated too familiarly ? When a smack follows her bow. SLEEP. Boucicault was so anxious to get as much out of life as possible that during the last four or five years of his career he denied himself proper sleep, going to bed at two and rising at six. The time passed in slumber he considered wasted. More rest than this he did not seem to. require. The other day we heard of a man who ' never sleeps, as we understand the word. He is the caretaker of a large building to which people resort at all hours of the twenty-four. This Cerberus volunteered for a double salary to do the watching day and night, and so he does, sitting in a chair and opening a gate every time the bell rings. There is never a longer interval than fifteen minutes,. and yet he contrives to snatch sufficient sleep to serve him. His health is good and his happiness apparently complete. He looks upon himself as fortunate in having this exacting place, which most other people would not accept’at any price. The amount of sleep is to a considerable degree a matter of temperament. Napoleon,.. according to the life of Josephine, recently published, was a prodigious sleeper, taking nine hours when he could get it. His active brain required this amount of rest. On the other hand, Emile Lettrl, the author of the dictionary, needed only four hours. He went to bed at four a.m. and got up at eight. All the rest of the time, except a few minutes at his meals, he spent at his desk. He lived to. eighty-five, and enjoyedpCrfect health. VON BOYLE’S LOST DOG. A DUTCHMAN’S STORY. His name vas " Bismarck,” mit only vone eye, on accoundt of a old plack cat, vot pelongs to a servant Irish gals mit red-haired hair. Also, he has only dree legs, on accoundt of a mocolotiff engine mitout any bull-ketchert. He vas a dog “ Bismarck” vas. He vas paldt-headed all ofer himself, In gonsequence of red-hot water, on accoundt of fighting mit a old maid's cat. On vone end of himself was skituated his head, und his tail it vas py de oder endt. He only carries vone-half of his tail mit him, Cn accoundt of a circular saw mill. He looks, a good deal more older as he is already, but he ain’t quite so oldt as dat until next Christmas. De vay vot you car. know him is, if you calls him " Shack” he vont say notings; but he makes answer to de name " Bismarck” by saying “ Pow-vow-vow," und, in the meantime, vagging half of his tail. Dot oder half vas cut off, so he can’t, of course, shake it. Also, if you trow some stones on top of him he vil run like de tueful. Dot de vay you can told my dog. He looks like a cross petween a bullfoundland und a cat mit nine tails, but he ain’t. I haf peen eferywheres looking for dot dog. Anoder way vot you could told if it vas "Bismarck” is dot he vas almost a dwin. He vould be half of a pair of dwins dot time, only dere vas dree of them—-a bair of dwiiis and a half. I peliefe dey calls dot a driplets. Also, he got scars on de top of his side where he scratched himself mit a Thomas cat; but dot Thomas cat nefer recovered himself. ' r You can also tell" Bismarck” on accoundt s of his wonderful inshtinct. He can outinshtinct any dog vot yer nefer saw in my life. For inshtinct, if you pat him on de top of his head mit your hand he knows right away dot you like him : but if you pat him on de head mit a pavement stones, or de shtick of a proom, den he vill suspect right off dot you care not much apout him. I tink, after all, dot’s maype de best vay vot you can tell him—by his inshtinct. Eferypody says he vas de most inshtinktenest tog dot nefer vas. PAT AND THE BEES. In Charles Lever’s delightful " O’Donoghue” there occurs a remarkably rich' passage illustrating the relations subsisting between an improving English landlord and an untutored tenant. The scene is on the lawn of the O'Donoghue’s castle in Kerry. The tenants have assembled to meet the worthy English baronet who has purchased the property, and who with his agent standing in the parlour-window, watches eagerly for some result of the many " improvements" which at great cost he has endeavoured to introduce to the wild and untutored peasants of the district. The agent presents the tenants to the worthy innovator who enquires into the condition of the grumbling and dissatisfied recipients of his favours. At length, on a tenant presenting himself, whom the agent failed to recognise, the baronet turns to the figure before him, which, with face and head swollen out of all proportion, and showing distorted features and fiery eyes through the folds of a cotton handkerchief, awaits his address in ; sullen silence.

*' Who are you my good man ? What has happened to you ?" "Faix, an'.it's well ye may ax; me own mother wouldn't know me this blessed morning! Tisall your own doin' entpirely." "My doing!" replies the astonished baronet. " What can I have to do with the state you are in my good man ?" "Yes, it is your doin'," answers the enraged proprietor of the swollen head; " Tis all your doin', and well ye may be. proud of it. 'Twas thim blessed bees ye gev me. We brought the divels into the house last night, an' where did we put them but in the pig's corner. Well, after Katty, an' the childer, an' meself was a while in bed, the pig go.es rootin' about the house, iinrl he wasn't aisy till he hooked his nose into the hive, and spilt the bees out about the (lure; and thin whin .1 got out of bid to let out the pig that was a-roaring through tbehouse, the bees Kittled down on me, an' began stingin' me an' I jumped into bid twain wid the whole of thim after me and Katty and the childer; and thin, what wid the bees a-buzzin' an' a-stingin' us under the clothes out we all jumped agin" an" such a night was never spent in Ireland as we spin* last nisht. What wid Katty and the rhHder a-roarin' an' a-ballin' an' the pig< tarin' up and down like mad, an' Katty wid the besom, an' myself wid the iryra'-pan flattenin' the bees agin the wall till morning', in' th'n the sight wi wor in the mornin'— bepor it's ashamed oi yerself ye ought to bei"