ine trees, the stunted silver-leaved
Ironbark, a Eucalyptus, with very scanty foliage, orange-coloured
blossoms, seed-vessels longitudinally ribbed, and as large as the egg of
a fowl; its butt was covered with a lamellar bark, but the upper part and
the branches were white and smooth; also by another Eucalyptus, with a
scaly butt like the Moreton Bay ash, but with smooth upper trunk and
cordate ovate leaves, which was also new to me; we called it the
Apple-gum. We frequently met with the grass tree (Xanthorrhaea.)

May 23.--We moved our camp to the westerly creek I had found the day
before, which with several others formed the heads of a river, flowing to
the N.W. I called this river the "Lynd," after R. Lynd, Esq., a gentleman
to whom I am under the greatest obligation, for his unmeasured liberality
and kindness enabled me to devote my time exclusively to the pursuits of
science and exploration.

The nights had been as usual very cold, and the dew very heavy. The
prevailing breeze was from the east, veering towards evening to the
north-east; during the morning a cold south-east wind. The rock was
primitive, granite and pegmatite in several varities, with a few
exceptions of anagenitic formation. Near the place of our first
encampment on the Lynd, in lat. 17 degrees 58 minutes, I observed a
sienite, to which the distribution of the hornblende in layers had given
the stratified appearance of gneiss. Another rock was composed of felspar
and large leaflets of white mica, or of quartz and white mica. The veins
which traversed these rocks were all of quartz, which, within the
pegmatite, enlarged into big masses and hills, particularly where
basaltic rock was near. Mr. Gilbert and Charley went down the creek to
find water and a practicable road, in case the country should prove
mountainous and rocky. I had a view from a small peak near our camp; the
country was full of ridges, but openly timbered, and I saw a low range to
the northward, trending from east to west.

May 24.--It was the Queen's birth-day, and we celebrated it with what--as
our only remaining luxury--we were accustomed to call a fat cake, made of
four pounds of flour and some suet, which we had saved for the express
purpose, and with a pot of sugared tea. We had for several months been
without sugar, with the exception of about ten pounds, which was reserved
for cases of illness and for festivals. So necessary does it appear to
human nature to interrupt the mo