to tell.  We had wandered into and over such frightful rocky and ungodly places, that it appeared useless to search farther in such a region, as it seemed utterly impossible for water to exist in it all.  Nevertheless, the natives were about, burning, burning, ever burning; one would think they were of the fabled salamander race, and lived on fire instead of water.  The fires were starting up here and there around us in fresh and narrowing circles; it seems as though the natives can only get water from the hollow spouts of some trees and from the roots of others, for on the surface of the earth there is none.  We saw a few rock wallaby, a different variety to the scrub or open sandhill kinds.  Bronze-winged pigeons also were occasionally startled as we wandered about the rocks; these birds must have water, but they never drink except at sundown, and occasionally just before sunrise, then they fly so swiftly, with unerring precision, on their filmy wings, to the place they know so well will supply them; and thirty, forty, or fifty miles of wretched scrub, that would take a poor human being and his horse a whole day to accomplish, are passed over with the quickness of thought.  The birds we flushed up would probably dart across the scrubs to the oasis we had so recently found.  Our horses were getting bad and thirsty; the day was warm; 92 degrees in the shade, in thirst and wretchedness, is hot enough, for any poor animal or man either.  But man enters these desolate regions to please himself or satisfy his desire for ambition to win for himself—­what? a medal, a record, a name?  Well, yes, dear reader, these may enter into his thoughts as parts of a tangible recognition of his labours; but a nobler idea also actuates him—­either to find, for the benefit of those who come after him, some beauteous spots where they may dwell; or if these regions can’t supply them, of deserts only can he tell; but the unfortunate lower is forced into such frightful privations to please the higher animals.  We now turned up towards the north-west, amongst scrubs, sandhills, and more stony ridges, where another fruitless search ended as before.  Now to the east of us rose a more continuous ridge, which we followed under its (base) foot, hoping against hope to meet some creek or gully with water.  Gullies we saw, but neither creeks or water.  We continued on this line till we struck our outgoing track, and as it was again night, we encamped without water.  We had travelled in a triangle.  To-day’s march was forty-three miles, and we were yet twenty-nine from the tarn—­apparently the only water existing in this extraordinary and terrible region.