A few days prior to the 2nd of February, we passed under some cliffs of partial volcanic origin, and had immediately afterwards entered a limestone country of the most singular formation. The river, although we had passed occasional rapids of the most dangerous kind, had maintained a sandy character from our first acquaintance with it to the lime

stone division. It now forced itself through a glen of that rock of half a mile in width, frequently striking precipices of more than two hundred feet perpendicular elevation, in which coral and fossil remains were plentifully embedded. On the 3rd February it made away to the eastward of south, in reaches of from two to four miles in length. It gradually lost its sandy bed, and became deep, still, and turbid; the glen expanded into a valley, and the alluvial flats, which had hitherto been of inconsiderable size, became proportionally extensive. The Murray increased in breadth to more than four hundred yards, with a depth of twenty feet of water close into the shore, and in fact formed itself into a safe and navigable stream for any vessels of the minor class. On the 6th the cliffs partially ceased, and on the 7th they gave place to undulating and picturesque hills, beneath which thousands of acres of the richest flats extended, covered, however, with reeds, and apparently subject to overflow at any unusual rise of the river.

It is remarkable that the view from the hills was always confined.—We were apparently running parallel to a continuation of the ranges we had seen on the 2nd, but they were seldom visible. The country generally seemed darkly wooded, and had occasional swells upon it, but it was one of no promise; the timber, chiefly box and pine, being of a poor growth, and its vegetation languid. On the 8th the hills upon the left wore a bleak appearance, and the few trees upon them were cut down as if by the prevailing winds. At noon we could not observe any land at the extremity of a reach we had just entered; some gentle hills still continued to form the left lank of the river, but the right was hid from us by high reeds. I consequently land

ed to survey the country from the nearest eminence, and found that we were just about to enter an extensive lake which stretched away to the S.W., the line of water meeting the horizon in that direction. Some tolerably lofty ranges were visible to the westward at the distance of forty miles, beneath which that shore was lost in haze. A hill, which I prejudged to be Mount Lofty, bearing by compass S. 141° W. More to the northward, the country was low and unbacked by any elevations. A bold promontory, which projected into the lake at the distance of seven leagues, ended the view to the south along the eastern shore; between which and the river the land also declined. The prospect altogether was extremely gratifying, and the lake appeared to be a fitting reservoir for the whole stream which had led us to it.

In the evening we passed the entrance; but a strong southerly wind heading us, we did not gain more than nine miles. In the morning it shifted to the N.E. where we stood out for the promontory on a S.S.W. course. At noon we were abreast of it, when a line of sand hummocks was ahead, scarcely visible in consequence of the great refraction about them; but an open sea behind us from the N.N.W. to the N.N.E. points of the compass. A meridian altitude observed here, placed us in 35° 25´ 15´´ S. lat.—At 1, I changed our course a little to the westward, and at 4 p.m. entered an arm of the lake leading W.S.W. On the point, at the entrance, some natives had assembled, but I could not communicate with them. They were both painted and armed, and evidently intended to resist our landing. Wishing, however, to gain some information from them, I proceeded a short distance

below their haunt, and landed for the night, in hopes that, seeing us peaceably disposed, they would have approached the tents; but as they kept aloof, we continued our journey in the morning. The water, which had risen ten inches during the night, had fallen again in the same proportion, and we were stopped by shoals shortly after starting. In hopes that the return of tide would have enabled us to float over them, we waited for it very patiently, but were ultimately obliged to drag the boat across a mud-flat of more than a quarter of a mile into deeper water; but, after a run of about twenty minutes, were again checked by sand banks. My endeavours to push beyond a certain point were unsuccessful, and I was at length under the necessity of landing upon the south shore for the night. Some small hummocks were behind us, on the other side of which I had seen the ocean from our morning's position; and whilst the men were pitching the tents, walked over them in company with Mr. M'Leay to the sea shore, having struck the coast at Encounter Bay, Cape Jervis, bearing by compass S. 81° W. distant between three and four leagues, and Kangaroo Island S.E. extremity S. 60° W. distant from nine to ten.

Thirty-two days had elapsed since we had left the depot, and I regretted in this stage of our journey, that I could not with prudence remain an hour longer on the coast than was necessary for me to determine the exit of the lake. From the angle of the channel on which we were, a bright sand-hill was visible at about nine miles distance to the E.S.E.; which, it struck me, was the eastern side of the passage communicating with the ocean. Having failed in our attempts to proceed further in the boat, and the ap

pearance of the shoals at low water having convinced me of the impracticability of it, I determined on an excursion along the sea-shore to the southward and eastward, in anxious hopes that it would be a short one; for as we had had a series of winds from the S.W. which had now changed to the opposite quarter, I feared we should have to pull across the lake in our way homewards. I left the camp therefore at an early hour, in company with Mr. M'Leay and Fraser, and at day-break arrived opposite to the sand-bank I have mentioned. Between us and it the entrance into the back water ran. The passage is at all periods of the tide rather more than a quarter of a mile in width, and is of sufficient depth for a boat to enter, especially on the off side; but a line of dangerous breakers in the bay will always prevent an approach to it from the sea, except in the calmest weather, whilst the bay itself will always be a hazardous place for any vessels to enter under any circumstances.

Having, however, satisfactorily concluded our pursuit, we retraced our steps to the camp, and again took the following bearings as we left the beach, the strand trending E.S.E. 1/2 E.:—

Kangaroo Island, S.E. angle . . S. 60° W.
Low rocky point of Cape Jervis . . S. 81° W.
Round Hill in centre of Range . . S. 164° W.
Camp, distant one mile . . S. 171° W.
Mount Lofty, distant forty miles . . N. 9° E.