CHAP. IX 
GLORIOUS VIEWS 
119 
blacks alone, who all day long sing, laugh, and play. 
Yesterday, we jogged merrily along in a springless 
dray to the old Bloomfield Mill, which has just been 
bought and is being removed, so the last hope is gone 
that this place will ever be alive again. Even at the 
tin mines, five miles away, very little metal is coming 
in, and at Lion’s Den, farther away, still less. 
We had a good scramble to the top of the hill, 
where the Bauers lived when the mill was working. It 
was a warm day, and a tedious walk, but we were well 
repaid. Stretching away in front of us were miles of sea- 
shore, the entrance to the river, and a long perspective 
of headlands fading away in the dim distance. Behind 
us, hundreds of feet below, lay the long valley, now 
waving with green grass instead of cane ; and towering 
above again, mountain after mountain of thickly-wooded 
jungle. The lights were rich and beautiful in the setting 
sun. Each fresh step disclosed another picture, and if 
our Australian artists only knew what rich and endless 
subjects they would find in Northern Queensland, they 
would surely make up their minds to endure a little 
roughing and camping out, and take a three or four 
months’ holiday at this time of year. It would well 
repay them. 
To-day we climbed to the top of the mountain 
(Macmillan) near the house, and a nice scramble we 
had ; we started early, Mrs. H.’s brother, her son, and six 
native women on foot, carrying lunch baskets, etc., and 
Miss H., Gina H., and I on ponies as far as the foot of 
the hill where the climbing commenced. Following 
for some distance through the jungle a rocky track 
made by pack-horses and mules from the mines, we 
emerged into the open, where the grass was green and 
smooth-looking, but on closer inspection we found it 
was so high as to be over our heads ; completely 
