The vegetation of the forest, and along the river, did not vary; but, on the mountains, the silver-leaved Ironbark prevailed.

The general course of the Lynd, from my last latitude to that of the 4th June, was north-west.

Sleeping in the open air at night, with a bright sky studded with its stars above us, we were naturally led to observe more closely the hourly changes of the heavens; and my companions became curious to know the names of those brilliant constellations, with which nightly observation had now, perhaps for the first time, made them familiar.  We had reached a latitude which allowed us not only to see the brightest stars of the southern, but, also of the northern hemisphere, and I shall never forget the intense pleasure I experienced, and that evinced by my companions, when I first called them, about 4 o’clock in the morning, to see Ursa Major.  The starry heaven is one of those great features of nature, which enter unconsciously into the composition of our souls.  The absence of the stars gives us painful longings, the nature of which we frequently do not understand, but which we call home sickness:—­and their sudden re-appearance touches us like magic, and fills us with delight.  Every new moon also was hailed with an almost superstitious devotion, and my Blackfellows vied with each other to discover its thin crescent, and would be almost angry with me when I strained my duller eyes in vain to catch a glimpse of its faint light in the brilliant sky which succeeds the setting of the sun.  The questions:  where were we at the last new moon? how far have we travelled since? and where shall we be at the next?—­were invariably discussed amongst us; calculations were made as to the time that would be required to bring us to the end of our journey, and there was no lack of advice offered as to what should, and ought to be done.

At several of our last camps the cry of the goat suckers, and the hooting of owls, were heard the whole night; and immediately after sunset, the chirping of several kinds of crickets was generally heard, the sound of which was frequently so metallic, as to be mistaken for the tinkling of our bell.  At Separation Creek, we first met with the ring-tailed opossum; and, on the table land, often heard its somewhat wailing cry.

June 5.—­We travelled, in a direct line, about nine miles west by north, down the river, although the distance along its banks was much greater; for it made a large bend at first to the northward, and afterwards, being turned by a fine conspicuous short range, to the westward.  I named the Range after W. Kirchner, Esq., another of the supporters of my expedition.  The river was here, in some places, fully half a mile broad, and formed channels covered with low shrubs, among which a myrtle was frequent.  Between the ranges, the river became narrower:  and, before it reached Kirchner’s Range, a large creek joined it from the eastward; and another from