As I have observed, the lagoon¹ on which we encamped was backed by hills of 150 or 200 feet elevation², 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 complement³, 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 miserable⁴ undulating country of sand and scrub. At noon we were abreast⁵ of a little sandy peak that was visible from our camp, and is a prominent feature hereabouts. This peak Mr. Browne and I ascended⁶, 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 eminence⁷ on which neither tree or shrub⁸ was growing, and the whole locality was so much in unison⁹ with it, that we called it “Mount Misery¹⁰.” After passing this hill, and forcing through some stunted¹¹ brush, we debouched on open plains and got once more on the overland road, which was distinctly marked by a line of bright green grass, that was springing up in the

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