Many have told of the thin forests of Queensland, the open plains, and
the interminable downs whereon the mirage plays with the fancies of
wayfarers; and of the dust, heat and sweat of cattle stations. Has not
the "Never Never Country" inspired many a traveller and more than one
poet? It is well to realise that we have such bountiful land, and to be
proud of the men capable of investing its vastness, monotony and prosaic
wealth with poetic imagery. Is it not also wise to remember now aagain
that Queensland possesses two types of tropical climate, accentuated by
boundaries having far great significance than those which divide tropical
from temperate Australia, and worlds apart in their distinctions? Is not
the land of the banana, the palm and the cedar, entitled to recognition,
as well as the land of the gidyea, the boree, and the bottle-tree? Who
has yet said or sung of the mystery of the half-lit jungles of our coast,
in contrast to the vivid boldness of the sun-sought, shadeless western
plains; of our green, moist mountains, seamed with gloomy ravines, the
sources of perennial streams; of the vast fertile lowlands in which the
republic of vegetation is as an unruly, ungoverned mob, clamouring for
topmost places in unrestrained excess of energy; of still lagoons, where
the sacred pink lotus and the blue and white water-lily are rivals in
grace of form, in tint and in perfume?
If I am successful in convincing that North Queensland is neither a
burning fiery furnace nor yet a sweltering steamy swamp; that the country
is not completely saturated with malaria; that there are vast areas which
no drought can tinge with grey or brown, where there are never-failing
streams, where cool fresh water trickles among the shale and shattered
coral on the beaches, where sweet-voiced birds sport and resplendent
butterflies flicker, then these writings will have been to some purpose.
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