About a dozen natives followed us from our camp, on the morning of the 8th.  We again struck the creek, on which we had rested, and which had turned to our right at 2 1/2 miles on an east by south course, and followed along its banks, until it again trended too much to the south.  We crossed alluvial flats of considerable extent, on which there was an abundance of grass.  Just at the point at which we turned from the creek, we ascended a small sand hill, covered with the amaryllis, then beautifully in flower.  The latitude of this little hill, from which the cliffs on the most northern reach of the Murray bore N. 170 degrees E. distant four miles, was 33 degrees 57 minutes 11 seconds; so that the Murray does not extend northwards beyond latitude 34 degrees 1 minutes or thereabouts.  We again struck the creek, the course of which had been marked by gum-trees, at six miles, and were forced by it to the N.E., but ultimately turned it and descended southwards to the river; but as we were cut off from it we encamped on a lagoon of great length, backed by hills of a yellow and white colour, the rock being a soft and friable sandstone, slightly encrusted with salt.  We had, shortly before we halted, passed a salt lagoon in the centre of one of the grassy flats, but such anomalies are not uncommon in the valley of the Murray.  That part of the river which I have described, from the point where we shot the bullock to this lagoon, appeared to me admirably adapted for a cattle station, and has since been occupied as such.

As I have observed, the lagoon on which we encamped was backed by hills of 150 or 200 feet elevation, which were covered with thick brush wood.  The flat between us and these hills was unusually barren, and all the trees at the side of the lagoon were dead.  Whether this was owing to there being salt in the ground or to some other cause, there was here but little grass for the cattle to eat, so that, although they were watched, twenty of them managed to crawl away, and we were consequently delayed above an hour and a half after our usual hour of starting, and commenced our day’s journey wanting two of our complement, but we stumbled upon them in passing through the brush, in which they were very comfortably lying down.  We travelled for about six miles through a miserable undulating country of sand and scrub.  At noon we were abreast of a little sandy peak that was visible from our camp, and is a prominent feature hereabouts.  This peak Mr. Browne and I ascended, though very little to our gratification, for the view from it was as usual over a sea of scrub to whatever quarter we turned.  The peak itself was nothing more than a sandy eminence on which neither tree or shrub was growing, and the whole locality was so much in unison with it, that we called it “Mount Misery.”  After passing this hill, and forcing through some stunted brush, we debouched on open plains and got once more on the overland road, which was distinctly marked