t the last water to the eastward. The ground is firmer
than I expected, travelling good. The large part of the water is reduced
two inches since 24th ultimo. The late rains seem to have no effect on
it. Wind, south-east.

Friday, 14th June, East End of Newcastle Water. Started with Thring,
Woodforde, and Wall, with one month's provisions and ten horses, at 7.45
a.m.; course, 60 degrees. At two miles crossed our former tracks, on the
top of the sandy table land, and after leaving it we again got on the
open plains, black alluvial soil, covered with grass, with deep holes and
cracks into which the horses were continually falling on their noses, and
running the risk of breaking our necks. These plains have swallowed up
every drop of rain that has fallen. The extent of the plain is seven
miles. We then entered a thick wooded country, of the same description as
the western forest, being equally thick, if not thicker, and as difficult
to penetrate. This continued for thirteen miles, when we met with another
small plain about half a mile wide, but opening out wider to north-west
and south. Not a drop of water have we seen since leaving Newcastle
Water, a distance of about thirty miles, except a little rain water about
three miles east of it. The plains are quite dry, scarcely showing that
rain has fallen. Camped. The horses have had a hard day's work and are
very tired. I wish I could have found water for them to-night. Latitude,
17 degrees 26 minutes 20 seconds. Wind, south-east.

Saturday 15th June, North-east Small Plains, Sturt Plains. Started at
7.30 a.m.; course, 60 degrees, through another ten miles of very thick
forest, the thickest we have yet seen. At eleven miles came again upon
the large open grassy plain, at the point where I turned on the 21st
ultimo. I expected to have found some rain water here, this being the
only place in all the plain I have seen that is likely to retain it. Sent
Thring and Woodforde in different directions, while I proceeded in
another, to see if we could find any, but not a drop could we see. It has
been all swallowed up by the ground, which is again dry and dusty. It
must take an immense quantity to saturate it, and leave any on the
surface; and if that were to be the case, the country would become so
soft it would be quite impassable. I am again forced to turn; it is quite
hopeless to attempt it any farther. It would be sacrificing our horses,
and, perhaps, our own lives, without the lea