[** C. OLEIFOLIUM (Hook. MS.); foliis obovato-oblongis obtusis glaucis basi in petiolum gracilem attenuatis, stipulis parvis acutis, fructibus didymis.]
[*** H. LONGICUSPIS (Hook. MS.); rigida glaberrima, ramis junioribus subpubescentibus, foliis bi-triuncialibus tereti-filiformibus rigidis strictis longe mucronatis, perianthiis glabris, capsulis suboblique ovatis lignosis glabris brevi-acuminatis.]
[**** P. LONGIFOLIA (Lindl. MS.); erecta, foliis sericeo-nitentibus linearilanceolatis auriculatis, pedunculis unifloris foliis multo brevioribus.]
12TH DECEMBER.—Thermometer, at 6 a.m., 67°. Passing over a similar sort of country for some miles (and through a scrub, on first leaving the camp), we at length came upon a more open country, where the ground seemed to fall southward. Cattle-tracks were again numerous, and cow-dung abundant, an article in much request with us just then, its smoke being a valuable specific for keeping off the mosquitoes, when a little of it was burnt before a tent. We next came upon more spacious plains than any we had seen southward of the Balonne; and I recognised, with great pleasure and satisfaction, the blue peak of Mount Riddell, distant 61 miles. This seemed to peep through the obscurity of fifteen laborious years, that had intervened since I had given a name to that summit. It now proved the accuracy of my recent survey, appearing exactly in the direction, where, according to my maps, I pointed my glass to look for it. Like the face of an old friend, which, as the Persian proverb says, "brighteneth the eyes," so this required clear eyes to be seen at all; even Yuranigh, could not at first be persuaded that it was not a cloud. This fine peak must always be a good landmark on these vast plains, and may yet brighten the eye of the traveller from India, when emerging from the level regions upon the Barwan. We next perceived at a distance, a cloud of dust raised by a numerous herd of cattle, and came upon a water-course, or branch of the Gwydir, called, I believe, the "Meei." As I wanted to cross the Gwydir, I crossed this and continued; met with another deep ditch or channel, four miles beyond the Meei; and, at three miles beyond that, another: none of these resembling the Gwydir I had formerly seen. I had ridden twenty-five miles, and hastened back to meet the carts, and encamped them just beyond the first-mentioned of these two water-courses. The heavy drays were, of course, far behind. Latitude, 29° 34' 41" S. Height above the sea, 553 feet.
13TH DECEMBER.—Thermometer, at 10 a.m., 70°. The drays joined us early, having performed an immense distance yesterday. This being Sunday, rest for the remainder of the day was both proper and necessary. I found we were within a less distance of Snodgrass Lagoon, than we were from the camp we had left the previous day. I expected to fall in with some road, when we reached the country to which I had formerly led the way. At sunset the sky seemed charged with rain, and the barometer had fallen 2½ millimetres; much thunder, and but a slight shower followed, after which the sky cleared up. Heavy rain there, must have caused much difficulty and delay to the party, as we were upon low levels subject to inundation. Height above the sea, 499 feet. Thermometer, at 6 p.m., 88°.
14TH DECEMBER.—Thermometer, at 6 a.m., 76°. During the night, and at day-break, heavy rain pattered on my tent, but a streak of the blue sky appeared in the N.W., which increased; and before 7 a.m. the sun shone on the ground, and dried it so that we could proceed. We crossed a channel of the river, at three miles, which is called the "Moomings;" and still I doubted whether we had not yet to cross the main channel of the Gwydir, having seen no current in any of those channels I had crossed. I had however already crossed the latitude of the river I had formerly seen; and, coming soon to rising ground, and seeing before me the wide-spread plains of my former journey, I was convinced that the late rains had not extended to the Gwydir, and that this river had been crossed by us in these several channels. At length, I arrived at the lagoon I had named, in former times, after Colonel Snodgrass; thus terminating this journey, having travelled in a direct line the last seventy-three miles of it, to meet at this point the line from Sydney, traced by me thus far in the year 1831. Height above the level of the sea, 545 feet. Thermometer, at 7 p.m., 87°. The temporary occupation of the country by squatters, imprints but few traces of colonization. Cattle-tracks were visible, certainly, but nothing else. No track remained along the line which I had so many years before laboured to mark out. Having ordered some of the men to look out for a stockman, one was at length caught, and persuaded to come to my tent, but not without some apprehension that the people he had come amongst so suddenly were robbers. He was a youth, evidently of the Anglo-Saxon race, in a state of transition to the condition of an Australian stockman. His fair locks strayed wildly from under a light straw hat about the ears of an honest English face, and the large stock whip in his hand explained what he was about,—"in search of some stray cattle." He had evidently never heard of exploring expeditions, past or present; nor of such a name as "Snodgrass Lagoon." Mount Riddell was called "Cow hill," according to him. Knew there was a road to Maitland, but of Sydney he seemed to require some minutes to recal the recollection. He had come from the station of Mr.——, where he was employed as stockman. Came out from England about six years ago with a brother. When asked if his brother was with him, he said "No." To my next question, as to the rest of his relatives, a tear was the only reply, and I pushed my inquiries no further.
16TH DECEMBER.—I left the camp, accompanied by Mr. Kennedy, and, in looking for my old route, we soon arrived at cattle stations. The lagoon was full, and the first station we saw was on the opposite bank; but having crossed some miles higher, we arrived at one, where the master and some men were busy in the stockyard, and there we were hospitably received. It was then about 2 p.m., and tea mixed with milk was set before us, with a quart pot full of fine salt, and some hard-boiled eggs. Having put into my tea a table-spoonful of the salt, mistaking it for sugar, and there being no sugar, I had two strong reasons for not taking much tea. Fortunately for me, however, I did eat one of the hard-boiled eggs, for from that hour I was doomed to fast two days. There I bade Mr. Kennedy farewell, leaving him in charge of the party, and proceeded along a cart-track homewards, followed by John Douglas, and a led horse. Before we could arrive at the station where I intended to halt, night overtook us on a plain, with very heavy rain, and total darkness. The cart-track was no longer visible, and, after groping on some way without it, we were obliged to alight and sit in the mud, without the shelter of even a tree, until day-break. Daylight exhibited the station not above two miles off, but that did not avail us much; for, on awaking the inmates, and asking them for some breakfast, the hut-keeper shook his head, and said he had no provisions to spare. Once more I struck away from these "abodes of civilized men," to look for my old track, which had been traced along the base of the Nundawàr Range, where the bold outlines of Mounts Lindesay and Forbes hung dimly, like shadows of the past, amongst clouds lighted by beams from the rising sun. After having been long in unknown regions, time and distance seem of little consequence when we return to those previously known; and thus the whole day soon passed in looking for my former track. But I sought it in vain; and was glad at night to turn towards the banks of the Nammoy, in search of a cattle-station. Since I had first explored that country to which my wheel-tracks marked and led the way, station after station had been taken up by squatters, not by following any line of route, but rather according to the course of the river, for the sake of water; and in such cases, the beaten track from station to station, no matter how crooked, becomes the road. Thus it is, in the fortuitous occupation of Australia, that order and arrangement may precede, and be followed only by "CHAOS come again." I arrived about sunset, at Mr. Cyrus Doyle's station near the Nammoy, where I was hospitably entertained by a man in charge of it, who rode eight miles in twenty minutes only, to borrow some tea and sugar for me, and who lived on very friendly terms with some old natives who remembered me, and my first advance into that country.
18TH DECEMBER.—At 6 a.m., Thermometer 75°. Height above the sea 750 feet. Guided by one of these natives, I reached the "great road," saw many wool drays upon it, before I arrived at Maule's creek; and I endeavoured, for a considerable time, to pass two gentlemen in a gig, and wearing veils, who were driving a lot of mares before them, and who seemed to derive amusement from making their mares keep pace with my entire horse.
The road this day traversed the luxuriant flats of the Nammoy, one of the richest districts in the colony, as the fat cattle on the banks of the river sufficiently attested. The mountains behind, afforded equally eligible runs for sheep. Nothing could surpass the beauty of the scenery, amid abundance of water, umbrageous trees, cattle, verdure, and distant mountains. I was most comfortably lodged that night at Mr. Wentworth's station on the Nammoy, elevated above the sea 1055 feet, and next day I reached the dwelling of a resident squatter, and saw a lady in a comfortable house near the very spot, where, fifteen years before, I had taken a lonely walk by the then unknown Nammoy, the first white man permitted there to discover a "flowery desert."[*] I was most kindly welcomed by this family; but I asked in vain, even there, to be favoured with the perusal of a newspaper. When I expressed anxiety about my numerous family, and spoke of my long absence of a year, I observed a tear in the lady's eye, which I then thought the product of mere sensibility; but I learnt subsequently, that she was aware the newspapers she possessed, and out of sympathy withheld, would have apprised me of the death of a son, which sad tidings were only communicated to me some days after.[**]
[* Three Expeditions, etc., vol. i. p. 54.]