ctor towards the
development of this great country of North Queensland than the numerous
alligators in the Burdekin River will be employed by the municipality of
Bowen as paid scavengers, and be provided brass badges, dust shovels,
and other such implements to denote their vocation. As for the other
assertions of the editor of the _Planters Friend_, we, with all
kindliness, should like to point out that the _Friend_ is the organ of
the Sugar Planters; it sees nothing beyond Sugar; Sugar is its God, its
Mokanna, and (incidentally) we may remark that Rum is a product
resulting from the manufacture of the saccharine plant, and we fear that
many samples of this aromatic liquid may have found their way into the
editorial sanctum of our esteemed and valued contemporary in Mackay. At
least, we judge so when a dirty, ill-smelling mud bank is compared with
one of the most noble evidences of God's handiwork--Port Denison!"

To such a courteous reproof as this, the _Planters' Friend_ would
invariably make the same reply in the form of a leaderette of ten or
twenty lines, enclosed in a square of black to denote mourning:

"Our esteemed Bowen contemporary has 'got 'em' again. We are sorry we
cannot #do any more than again, in the most kindly spirit, urge him to
try the Dr Jordan cure, an advertisement of which will be found on page
3. We have personal knowledge of a case of the rescue from utter wreck
and degradation of one of the brightest intellects of the present
century by the use of the Jordan system; and as the price is but
trifling, it should be within easy access of our squatter-adoring
contemporary."

To these vaguely-worded, funereal-encompassed remarks, the _Clarion_
would retort:

"No one who believes in the trite but, nevertheless, all-powerfully true
assertion that the Press is the Archimidean lever which moves the world,
cannot but regret the unblushing statement of the editor of our esteemed
contemporary, the _Planters' Friend_, that he has been the victim of a
soul-destroying, home-wrecking, and accursed habit, which that gifted
American, Colonel Robert Ingersoll, has, in words of fiery eloquence,
called 'the treacherous, insidious murderer of home and happiness; the
Will-o'-the-Wisp that draws honour, genius, and all that is good
into its fatal, deadly quagmire.' To the assertion that our valued
contemporary is 'the possessor of one of the brightest intellects of the
present century' (as he so modestly informs