ECHOES FROM THE BUSH.
BY GEOFFRY CRABTHORN.
It will not I imagine be expected for a moment that my accustomed column of fun and satire should this week make its appearance when the whole of the Register
staff are mourning the loss of one who was respected and beloved by all who knew him. Let the writer of these lines lay aside for a time his wonted garb of motley, and record with regretful reverence the breaking of a bond of union which has grown and strengthened with the lapse of years. I have known Edward William Andrews, now so suddenly taken from among us, for more than half my life. I have to look back a long way now to fix the time when pleasant acquaintance ripened into firm and lasting friendship — a friendship which I am glad and proud to think was truly mutual. In all those years of acquaintance and of friendship I have rarely met a man more truly esti- mable. With a tact and judgment which proved invaluable to those who were privileged to profit by his counsel, with a facile pen which has occasionally —despite an inconquerable diffidence — enriched this column of mine, and indeed not this alone, with graceful verse, with a devotion to duty which spared no toil and even defied the inroads of weakness and physical suffering, he combined a tender heartedness which ever shrank from giving pain, a wide sympathy always on the alert to succour in secret the humble and the needy, to share and alleviate the sorrows of a friend, or to contribute to the happi- ness of those around him, a thoughtful kindness which shrewdly anticipated the wants of those he wished to help, and above all a devout and reverent spirit which lifted him above the din and turmoil of this restless world towards that purer atmosphere where it is our solace to believe his soul has found its lasting rest. Let me, in closing this brief and all im- perfect record of a lamented friend, so far dare to raise the veil of privatelife as to note one striking trait — the surest test I know of a true-hearted man. The little children always sought him gladly, and when they came to know him well there were none of them but loved him dearly. For my part, I would not wish a nobler epitaph than that. Half a century hence, when those who shared his toils and knew his highest worth have long passed away, the memory of Edward William Andrews will still be lovingly recalled by those whose child- hood's days were gladdened by his pre- sence, and for whom he ever had a ready smile, a gentle word of kindness, and a thoughtful care. The Late Drought at Green's Piatns. — We learn on good authority (says the Wallaroo Times) that one farmer at Green's Plains has spent £400 during the past season in purchasing and carting water.