The axe-gang found the puma very dead and Pat very hard to revive. The whisky-and-water method brought him around at last. He looked hazily about him in evident bewilderment until his eye caught sight of the dead animal, and then his face lighted up with eager joy. “Glory to God, Oi’m a miner!” he shouted. “Oi’ve ‘shot’ at last!” TEN THOUSAND YEARS IN ICE By Robert Duncan Milne While lounging listlessly along the sea-wall one afternoon about the beginning of August last--the eighth, I think it was--enjoying the sunshine and inhaling the sea-breeze, my attention was attracted to an unusual bustle and commotion on the quay of Section Two. I could see from where I was that considerable exertions were being made to transfer some heavy object from a vessel moored alongside the quay to the quay itself. As I got nearer I discovered by the name on the stern that the vessel was the whaling-bark _Marion_, and that the object which the crew, assisted by a number of longshoremen, were making such efforts to get on shore was an immense rectangular block, measuring some nine feet in length by about four in breadth and thickness. Had it been a block of granite, the men could not have worked harder, prying it with rollers and levers along a gangway made of a dozen or so of stout planks laid abreast from the ship’s deck to the quay. As, however, this object, whatever it was, was swathed and enveloped with a plentiful supply of sacking, I could form no opinion as to its nature. While standing abstractedly by, looking on and speculating as to what this very heavy object might be, and wondering what it could be doing aboard a whaler, I was tapped gently on the shoulder by somebody, and, looking round, my eyes rested on a heavily bearded and bronzed individual in pea-jacket and rough trousers, with a laughing eye, who said, cheerily: “What! don’t you know me?” I was certain I had never seen the man before, though something in the voice sounded familiar. My doubts, however, were speedily set at rest by this individual exclaiming: “Don’t you recollect Joe Burnham? Has a year made such a difference? If so, I’m glad of it. You couldn’t have paid me a better compliment.” “Can it be possible?” I said, in surprise, as I grasped his hand; “why, Joe, who would have expected to meet you coming off a whaler? And with a heavy beard, too!” “Why, I thought you knew all about it,” he returned, with equal surprise; “just wait a minute,” he added, as he turned to give some directions to the men who had now got the heavy object safe on shore, and were proceeding to hoist it upon a dray. While he was thus engaged, I recalled some circumstances which served to explain the unexpected and original appearance of my friend.