Obituaries Australia

Our Colo correspondent writes: — It is with feelings of profound sorrow and regret that I chronicle the sad and sudden death of one of our most beloved and universally respected neighbors, in the person of Mr Bartholomew Turnbull, JP, who expired at his residence, Central Colo, on Sunday, 24th June— just five weeks, to the day, after the widely regretted demise of his good and beloved wife. It is generally believed that the latter's death occasioned that of her husband, and this impression is apparently based on very reasonable grounds, too, for since his wife's death Mr Turnbull never seemed the same man — in fact, I have heard several persons remark that the old gentleman was a complete wreck. Then the memorial service for the late Mrs Turnbull, which was held in the Lower Portland Methodist Church on Sunday, June 24th, seemed to freshen and intensify his grief; and before the termination of the service he took ill and had to be carried out of the church. After the service was over Mr Turnbull was taken home by some of the members of his family, and he still continued so low that it was deemed advisable to summon medical assistance and consequently a messenger was sent across the river to get George Jones to ride into Windsor for a doctor. When the messenger had crossed the river Mr Turnbull felt much better, and it was decided not to send for a doctor. But Mr Jones had not long gone to bed when he was requested a second time to go for a doctor, as Mr Turnbull had taken another bad change— a change which proved fatal, for he breathed his last just as the messenger got over to the house on his way to Windsor. This was about 10 p.m. The deceased was quite sensible right up to the last, and bade his children a last farewell just as he was about to enter upon his 'last journey' — his journey to that 'bourne from which no traveller returns.' To say that the neighbors were surprised does not adequately express their feelings. They were actually thunderstruck, and could scarcely bring themselves to realise that poor old Bart Turnbull, as he was familiarly called, had joined the silent majority — for only a few of them had heard anything of his illness. The long arm of coincidence seems to have presented itself in Mr Turnbull's demise, for he died on the same day of the week— Sunday — as his good wife died five weeks previously. The bereaved family have now a double claim on our sympathy and condolence, for they have lost both mother and father. Mr Turnbull had been a Justice of the Peace for several years. He was also one of the Directors of the Hawkesbury River Steam Navigation Company, ab initio till his death — and if we allow that knavish robbery and dishonesty were the chief factors in the bar which has always impeded the Company's operations and prosperity, we cannot impute any of these sinister tricks to the upright old man who has just passed away, for the whole district knows that he was as honest as the sun— a true Christian and a real 'white man,' to use a familiar colloquialism. It will be many a long day ere his memory fades from our minds.  'Though lost to sight to memory dear.' Poor old' Bart! The long day has closed, and he has gone out into the night, and now that life's fitful fever is over, let us hope that his sleep will be a sound one, as we believe God will put all things right someday.