produced, although I
occasionally succeeded in scattering them pretty well.

JUNCTION OF THE RUFUS.

About 11 a.m., we arrived at the junction of a small river with the
Murray, at which a tribe, about 250 in number, had assembled to greet us.
We landed, therefore, for the double purpose of distributing presents, and
of examining the junction, which, coming from the north, of course, fell
into the Murray upon its right bank. Its waters were so extremely muddy,
and its current so rapid, that it must have been swollen by some late
rains. Perhaps, it had its sources in the hills we had seen; be that as it
may, it completely discoloured the waters of the Murray.

We made it a point never to distribute any presents among the natives
until we had made them all sit, or stand, in a row. Sometimes this was a
troublesome task, but we generally succeeded in gaining our point; with a
little exertion of patience. M'Leay was a famous hand at ordering the
ranks, and would, I am sure, have made a capital drill-sergeant, not less
on account of his temper than of his perseverance. I called the little
tributary I have noticed, the Rufus, in honour of my friend M'Leay's red
head, and I have no doubt, he will understand the feeling that induced me
to give it such a name.

GEOLOGICAL EXAMINATION.

Not many miles below the Rufus, we passed under a lofty cliff upon the
same side with it. It is the first elevation of any consequence that
occurs below the Darling, and not only on that account, but also on
account of the numerous substances of which it is composed, and the
singular formation that is near requires to be particularly
noticed. [See Appendix.] The examination was a task of considerable
danger, and both Fraser and myself had well nigh been buried under a mass
of the cliff that became suddenly detached, and, breaking into thousands
of pieces, went hissing and cracking into the river.

THUNDER STORMS.

The weather about this time was extremely oppressive and close. Thunder
clouds darkened the sky, but no rain fell. The thermometer was seldom
below 104 at noon, and its range was very trifling. The wind shifted
several times during the twenty-four hours; but these changes had no
effect on the thermometer. It was evident, however, as the sun set on the
evening of the 26th, that the clouds from which thunder had for the last
four or five days disturbed the silence of nature around us, would not
long support their own weight. A littl