316 By Stream and Sea. 



Cooktown occupies a fine situation. Its bold hills are 

 diversified by great ribs covered with a brownish grass, by 

 ravines full of green undergrowth, by peaks and pyramids 

 verdure clad, by ridges capped with rocky crowns of fan- 

 tastic pattern. There is one hill which would appear to 

 have had an eruption of Brobdingnagian beehives breaking 

 out all over its face. One of the bystanders says that the 

 scenery about Cooktown is not amiss, but that it has an 

 unfinished sort of look, as if it had been created late on 

 the sixth day. This is not reverent, but it hits the case 

 pretty fairly, and there are other portions of the coast that 

 come under the same category. The scattered township 

 looks pleasant from seaward, but an inhabitant recommends 

 me not to bring my family up there for a holiday. 



Next day we have more significant nomenclature. We 

 pass Weary Bay; also Cape Tribulation, the latter a low 

 mound flanked by finely-wooded slopes. Peter Botte 

 mountain is over 3000 feet high, but in association with 

 a far-reaching range it does not look so lofty. Towards 

 evening these imposing mountains are magnificently purpled 

 with a purple that is peculiar to Australia. It suffuses 

 mountains, valleys, and islands alike, save where cloudlets 

 rest like silver epaulettes upon the shoulders of some 

 obtrusive summit. It is the land of gold beyond, but 

 there is no other attraction apparent. The coveted treasure 

 is wrung amidst burning heat and chronic privations from 

 the bosom of the very desert. 



There is an abundance of mountain grandeur down the 

 entire coast of Queensland, with islands and narrow water 

 passages charmingly picturesque in their variety of foliage. 

 There are curiosities, too, such as Magnetic Island, which 

 seems to have passed, at some remote period, through a 

 terrible fiery ordeal. One of its headlands is covered with 



