the soil was a deep black, and but little mixed with sand.  For the next three miles and a half, our route lay over a rich swampy grassy land, and we were literally walking all the way in water left by the rains; besides crossing in that distance two fresh water streams, running strongly towards the sea, and both emptying into small lakes seen under the coast ridges.  The largest of these two was one yard and a half wide and a foot deep, and appeared of a permanent character.  We now ascended an undulating and rather more elevated tract of country of an oolitic limestone formation, most luxuriantly clothed with the richest grass, and having several lakes interspersed among the hollows between the ridges.  Near this we halted for the night under some of the coast sand-hills, after a day’s stage of twelve miles.  We had splendid feed for our horses, but were without any water for ourselves, being unable to carry any with us, as the canteens were full of treacle.  From our camp, a peak, near Cape le Grand, bore E. 33 degrees S.

June 18.—­During the night heavy showers had fallen, and in the oilskins we caught as much water as sufficed for our tea.  After breakfast we proceeded onwards, and at a little more than three miles came to the borders of a large salt lake, lying southwest and north-east, and being one of two noted by Captain Flinders as having been copied into his map from a French chart.  Following the borders of the lake for a mile we found abundance of fresh water under the banks by which it was inclosed, and which, judging from the rushes and grasses about it, and the many traces of native encampments, I imagine to be permanent.  The lake itself was in a hollow sunk in the fossil formation, which was now very clearly recognisable in the high banks surrounding the lake, and which varied from sixty to a hundred and fifty feet in elevation, and were generally pretty steep towards the shore.  The day being fine I halted at this place to re-arrange the loads of the horses and take bearings.

A year had now elapsed since I first entered upon the Northern Expedition.  This day twelve months ago I had left Adelaide to commence the undertaking, cheered by the presence and good wishes of many friends, and proudly commanding a small but gallant party—­alas, where were they now?  Painful and bitter were the thoughts that occupied my mind as I contrasted the circumstances of my departure then with my position now, and when I reflected that of all whose spirit and enterprise had led them to engage in the undertaking, two lone wanderers only remained to attempt its conclusion.