SHOALS IN THE RIVER.

There was now heavy work before us, with the thermometer at 93 degrees in
the shade: we had to drag the boats over the large flat that impeded our
progress. The way was made as smooth as possible, and plenty of rollers
laid, but an unlucky stone found its way through the thin plank of the
gig. Captain Wickham acted as head carpenter in repairing the damage,
which occupied so much time that it was dark before the boats were
floated in the deep water beyond. We dined on the bank, by the light of a
lantern hung on a tree. The tide at this place only rose two feet.

SCENERY ON ITS BANKS.

November 5.

Taking advantage of the cool of the morning, we moved off with the early
dawn. A fine sheet of water lay before us, and everything promised well.
The vegetation looked stronger and richer. Above the growth of acacias
and drooping gums, that leant over the banks kissing their reflection in
the limpid waters, rose on each side high broken ranges. Their heights
had round summits, just beneath which, in some, could be traced a low
line of cliffs, so singularly characteristic of Sea Range. The very
marked dip in the strata did not extend beyond the latter, and here I
could not detect any. Flights of large vampires, whistling ducks,
many-coloured parakeets, and varieties of small birds, made the river
quite alive, and their continued cry of alarm gave vivacity to the scene,
and disturbed the stillness that had reigned there for years. Every
living thing is terrified at the sight of man. This reach of the Victoria
enabled Mr. Bynoe to add two new birds to his collection; one, a species
of pigeon, but resembling a small quail in its habits and size; the cerae