I proceed. 
Two-storied native huts. 
Chinese doctrine. 
A wonderful mountain. 
Elegant trees. 
Extraordinary ridge. 
A garden. 
Nature imitates her imitator. 
Wild and strange view. 
Pool of water. 
A lonely camp. 
Between sleeping and waking. 
Extract from Byron for breakfast. 
Return for the party. 
Emus and water. 
Arrival of Tietkens. 
A good camp. 
Tietkens’s birthday creek. 
Ascend the mountain. 
No signs of water. 
Gill’s range. 
Flat-topped hill. 
The Everard range. 
High mounts westward. 
Snail shells. 
Altitude of the mountain. 
Pretty scenes. 
Parrot soup. 
The sentinel. 
Thermometer 26 degrees. 
Frost. 
Lunar rainbow. 
A charming spot. 
A pool of water. 
Cones of the main range. 
A new pass. 
Dreams realised. 
A long glen. 
Glen Ferdinand. 
Mount Ferdinand. 
The Reid. 
Large creek. 
Disturb a native nation. 
Spears hurled. 
A regular attack. 
Repulse and return of the enemy. 
Their appearance. 
Encounter Creek. 
Mount Officer. 
The Currie. 
The Levinger. 
Excellent country. 
Horse-play. 
Mount Davenport. 
Small gap. 
A fairy space. 
The Fairies’ Glen. 
Day dreams. 
Thermometer 24 degrees. 
Ice. 
Mount Oberon. 
Titania’s spring. 
Horses bewitched. 
Glen Watson. 
Mount Olga in view. 
The Musgrave range.

Upon inspection this morning we found but a poor supply of water had drained into our tank in the night, and that there was by no means sufficient for the remaining horses; these had no water yesterday.  We passed the forenoon in still enlarging the tank, and as soon as a bucketful drained in, it was given to one of the horses.  We planted the seeds of a lot of vegetables and trees here, such as Tasmanian blue gum, wattle, melons, pumpkins, cucumbers, maize, etc.; and then Mr. Tietkens and I got our horses and rode to the main hills to the west, in hopes of discovering more water.  We started late, and it was dark when we reached the range.  The country passed over between it and our encampment, was exceedingly beautiful; hills being thrown up in red ridges of bare rock, with the native fig-tree growing among the rocks, festooning them into infinite groups of beauty, while the ground upon which we rode was a perfect carpet of verdure.  We were therefore in high anticipation of finding some waters equivalent to the scene; but as night was advancing, our search had to be delayed until the morrow.  The dew was falling fast, the night air was cool, and deliciously laden with the scented exhalations from trees and shrubs and flowers.  The odour of almonds was intense, reminding me of the perfumes of the wattle blooms of the southern, eastern, and more fertile portions of this continent.  So exquisite was the aroma, that I recalled to my mind Gordon’s beautiful lines:—­