We have the painful duty of telling our readers that James McPherson, who has contributed so largely in prose and verse to our columns under the non-de-plume of "Poor Jim", will never write another line.

He was known in the early sixties as the "Wild Scotchman", and served a term of imprisonment for bushranging while still a mere lad.

After his release he was a law-abiding citizen. His marriage seems to have been a fit and happy one for he writes in the highest terms of his wife.

He had a selection near Hughenden until the drought smashed him. He then made his way with his wife and six children towards the Gulf, where he has been cutting cord wood for the Burketown meat works.

Readers of the Eagle know that his writings were not of the ordinary sort. They indicated a man of large mind and deep sympathy for human suffering and strongly resentful of public wrong.

He had a strong passion for liberty and held a view that it was worth fighting for even to blood if it could not be attained by peaceful means. As a poet, he had considerable ability and never wrote anything that was not worth reading. He had agreed to write his life and adventures for "The Eagle", and the preliminaries were all arranged when his death occurred.

He had attended the funeral of an old resident of Burketown who was killed by accident, and when returning from the funeral last Sunday his horse threw him. He lingered unconscious till Tuesday morning, when he died. He leaves a widow and six children unprovided for.

Poor Jim. We shall miss your stirring words and trenchment exposure.

Men die but the cause lives on.