In one or two places to-day, passing through some of the burning scrubs and spinifex, we had noticed the fresh footprints of several natives.  Of course they saw us, but they most perseveringly shunned us, considering us probably far too low a type of animal for their society.  We also saw to-day dilapidated old yards, where they had formerly yarded emu or wallaby, though we saw none of their wurleys, or mymys, or gunyahs, or whatever name suits best.  The above are all names of the same thing, of tribes of natives, of different parts of the Continent—­as Lubra, Gin, Nungo, etc., are for woman.  No doubt these natives carry water in wallaby or other animals’ skins during their burning hunts, for they travel great distances in a day, walking and burning, and picking up everything alive or roasted as they go, and bring the game into the general camp at night.  We passed through three different lines of conflagrations to-day.  I only wish I could catch a native, or a dozen, or a thousand; it would be better to die or conquer in a pitched battle for water, than be for ever fighting these direful scrubs and getting none.  The following morning the poor horses looked wretched in the extreme; to remain long in such a region without water is very severe upon them; it is a wonder they are able to carry us so well.  From this desert camp our depot bore north 40 degrees east.  The horses were so exhausted that, though we started early enough, it was late in the afternoon when we had accomplished the twenty-nine or thirty miles that brought us at last to the tarn.  Altogether they had travelled 120 miles without a drink.  The water in the tarn had evidently shrunk.  The day was warm—­thermometer 92 degrees in shadiest place at the depot.  A rest after the fatigue of the last few days was absolutely necessary before we made a fresh attempt in some new locality.

(Illustration:  Glen Edith.)

It is only partly a day’s rest—­for I, at least, have plenty to do; but it is a respite, and we can drink our fill of water.  And oh! what a pleasure, what a luxury that is!  How few in civilisation will drink water when they can get anything else.  Let them try going without, in the explorer’s sense of the expression, and then see how they will long for it!  The figs on the largest tree, near the cave opposite, are quite ripe and falling; neither Carmichael nor Robinson care for them, but I eat a good many, though I fancy they are not quite wholesome for a white man’s digestive organs; at first, they act as an aperient, but subsequently have an opposite effect.  I called this charming little oasis Glen Edith, after one of my nieces.  I marked two gum-trees at this camp, one “Giles 24”, and another “Glen Edith 24 Oct 9, 72”.  Mr. Carmichael and Robinson also marked one with their names.  The receptacle in which I found the water I have called the Tarn of Auber, after Allan Poe’s beautiful lines, in which that name appears, as I thought them appropriate to the spot.  He says:—­