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Poverty Bay Standard, Volume XI, Issue 1299, 22 March 1883, Page 3

u Wake up, dear, and etop snaring.” said a woman to her husband. “Eh ? Wazz.i matter now?” he asked, as he half raised himself in bed. “ Won't you please stay snoring ? If you only knew how homesick it makes me I’m sure you would.” “ Home sick ! How can my innocent snore make you homesick ?” *• Why you know, dear, that the home on the coast from which you took me, a joyous bride, was only half a mile from a lighthouse fog-horn, and every time you snore it reminds me so of home that I just can’t stand it. Please lie on your side and have some respect for my feelings. ” The following is taken from an English paper of a recent date received by the last mail : —“A gentleman about 50 years of age was found dead yesterday in a Plymouth hotel. He had given the name of James Harris, but was otherwise unknown. In his bag was found £276 in gold. It is ascertained that he lately came Home from New Zealand, where he had been for 20 years, and amassed considerable property. He returned to England to see his sister, who was ill at Extcr and had since died, and purpose going back shortly, but intended first to procure a wife. He suffered from palpitation of the heart, to which his death is presumably attributable.” In the editor’s room of one of the Dublin newspapers there is a memento that is unique in its way. It is a telegram in a neat frame, and was sent to the editor by a genius of a reporter a week ago in the following words : “ Please keep column open for dastardly outrage to be committed at eleven o’clock tonight.” “ .Eglee, ’’ in the Australian says : —“A bush correspondent once assured me of an actual case of transferred wife, which came about in this way. A wayfayer on the. Darling, as he plodded along, approached a hut where he discovered a man beating a woman. Then—Wayfarer; ‘ What are you about mate ?’ Benedick ; ‘ Thrashing my wife. Whats that to you ?’ Wayfair : ‘ Nothing But why arc you beating her;” Benedick: •‘Coes she’s nu good.’ Wayfarer (after a little consideration*' ; ‘ Well, mate, I got a bottle of grog in my swag. You can have that and a £o note for the hut and the missus.’ Benedick (with no hesitition) : I’ts a bargain. The lot’s yours.’ The grog was produced and drunk ; the late proprietor rolled up a swag and departed ; and the whilom wanderer seme months later explained to an old employer how he had won the wife to whom he was duly married, and who had escaped from the bondage of a tyrant to be the companion of a man rough but reasonable.” I

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