Lost in the Bush. 263 



LOST IN THE BUSH. 



BY THE "OLD BUSHMAN." 



I remember once, when in Australia, reading the following 

 advertisement in the columns of the Argus, "Lost, on the 

 Dandenong Banges, a little boy." And after a full description 

 of his dress and person, and how he had strayed away from his 

 party, who were pic-nicing in this wild but beautiful mountain 

 range, a large reward was offered to any one who would restore 

 the lad alive to his friends in Melbourne. I was camped at 

 that time not far from the '■ Fern Tree Gully," near which 

 place he was last seen alive, and although the whole of our 

 party, as well as scores of others, who knew that bush well, 

 scoured the whole country round for days and days in search 

 of the missing boy, it was all in vain. We could never gain 

 any tidings of his fate, which will probably now remain a 

 mystery till that great day when all secrets shall be revealed. 



Morning after morning that melancholy advertisement 

 appeared in the columns of the daily paper, and day followed 

 day of unsuccessful search, till at length we reluctantly gave 

 it up, and returned to our wonted occupations. But it was 

 long before the mournful impression created by that sad event 

 wore away; especially as it was frequently renewed, when 

 chance stock riders, on their way home to a distant station, would 

 stop to light their pipes at our camp fire, and speculate on 

 the probable fate of the lost child. The very blacks, who 

 were familiar with every gorge and gully on this wild mountain, 

 range, and who had throughout assisted us bravely in our 

 melancholy task, despaired, and ' ' Piccaninny no come back. 

 Tumble down, tumble down," was the usual greeting whenever 

 I met one, for months after the sad event. 



It is impossible to conjecture what were that poor lad's 

 sufferings, but it is most probable that his strength soon gave 

 way, and he was happily spared much agony and distress, 

 which a strong man would have gone through in struggling 

 manfully against his fate. But if the loss of this boy left such 

 an impression upon the minds of strangers, it requires very 

 little stretch of imagination to conceive the dreadful feelings 

 of his parents, as day by day rolled on and brought no tidings 

 of their lost son. What mental sufferings can compare with 

 the " sickening anxiety of hope deferred " ? And how often 

 the mother's heart sank within her as each succeeding night 

 and morning brought back the agonizing question of " Where 

 is my child ?" and Echo answered Where ? 



Lost in the Bush! — What a history of protracted sufferings, 



