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Updated: June 19, 2025


How often have I made that slow, sad journey to Lone Mountain a Via Doloroso to many who have never been the same after they had gone thither, and coming back found the light quenched and the music bushed in their homes!

I believe that but for Warri I should have been "bushed"; my head was muddled, and the stars not too clear. What a joyful sight met our eyes as we crested a rise of sand a sight almost as reviving as the food and water we so anxiously looked forward to.

"If a few of them come along," Peters said, "we can run him down in a few hours, and then we can " "Roast him," Palmer Billy interrupted savagely. "Better let him get bushed. It's a hundred chances to one if he'll travel far after the hammering you gave him," Tony said. "No, that would be cruel," Palmer Billy exclaimed. "He's only a mining shark, but still, white men ain't cruel."

The man left in camp does not know what to do if he goes far from home, there is the danger of the camp being robbed by natives, therefore he hesitates to go in search of his mate, who possibly is in sore need of help from an accident, or bushed, or speared so many things might happen. If one broke a limb, as he easily might, what could his mate do? Nothing.

Or the change from the uniformity of the page draws his eye to the 'displayed' passages, and he is tantalised into reading them out of their proper place and order. Take, for instance, an example which just occurs to me. In 'It is Never Too Late to Mend, Fielding and Robinson are lost in an Australian forest 'bushed, as the local phrase goes. At that hour they are being hunted for their lives.

She severely reprimanded the gardener on account of his dog, but the thing was bushed up and never known at court; for the girl was afraid of the queen's anger, and truly, as to myself, I thought it would not be for my reputation that such a story should go about. This accident absolutely determined Glumdalclitch never to trust me abroad for the future out of her sight.

But with no effect. The killing of birds went on, to my great regret and shame. The other day I went to my garden to get a mess of peas. I had seen, the day before, that they were just ready to pick. How I had lined the ground, planted, hoed, bushed them! The bushes were very fine, seven feet high, and of good wood. How I had delighted in the growing, the blowing, the podding!

The hum was like the far singing of a child-choir, and the dreamings it started then were altogether too big for the memory mechanism of a little boy's head; but the vastness and wonder of those dreamings left a kind of bushed beauty far back in his mind.

The walls were a mingled tapestry of roses, jessamine, sweet clematis, and all climbing plants hardy enough to bear the rigors of the northern winter. Trimmed in though ever so closely in the fall of the year, in the summer it bushed and blossomed out into a wantonly luxuriant, delicious variety of color and fragrance.

At that moment the father came out of the hole in the bank. He wore no hat, and his thick, iron-gray hair was brushed straight back from his forehead. It was so long that it bushed out behind his ears, and made him look like the old portraits I remembered in Virginia. He was tall and slender, and his thin shoulders stooped.

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