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started from the Mulgrave, with Harold and the blackboys, Charley, 
Jimmy, and Toby, in light marching order, carrying a minimum of 
clothes and provisions. We crossed the river, skirted the base of the 
"Walsh Pyramid (Cbarroogin), traversed the twelve miles from there 
to Tringilburra Creek, crossed that creek and ascended Barnard's Spur 
to the top at 1,700 feet, and descended 700 feet to our camp by the 
Whelanian Pools. On the 13th we -started up the mountain, and 
arrived on the summit at 5,000 feet in the afternoon, and decided to 
remain at our old camp for the night to give the boys the longest possible 
rest to qualify them for the work of the following day. At night the 
temperature was 42 degrees. Fortunately we had brought water from 
the Palm Camp at 4,000 feet, for the source of our previous supply had 
dried up, and there was no water anywhere on the summit. On the 14th 
we started for the unexplored peaks, drizzling showers falling, and the 
dense wet vegetation more unpleasant than the rain. About 9 o'clock 
we stood on the centre peak at 5,240 feet, nothing to be seen in any 
direction but drifting vapours, masses of white clouds, and general 
gloom, silence, and desolation. Another hour and we reached our pre- 
vious farthest point, on the edge of a small precipice. And now began 
solid track cutting through vegetation simply iDfernal. The crest of 
the mountain was not anywhere more than 20 feet wide, at times 
narrowing to a crown of sharp rocks. The clouds were so dense that 
the view extended no more than 50 feet down each side, and we 
appeared as if travelling along a narrow dark track suspended in mid- 
air over bottomless vacuity. No words could picture that dreary 
dismal solitude. The only sound that broke the mournful stillness was 
the occasional rich noisy voice of Spalding's orthonyx— " Chowchilla " 
of the natives — or the peculiar call of my own bower bird, " Wargan- 
dilla." All else was but a 
Sea of stagnant idleness, 
Blind, boundless, mute, and motionless. 
The temperature was 54 degrees ; light rain continued all day, and 
the trees, shrubs, ferns, and palms dripped constantly in miserable 
monotony. The boys walked behind me in solemn silence, a melan- 
choly procession, the soft sandshoes noiseless on the wet leaves and 
granite rocks, all too uncomfortable, or too much impressed by the 
desolate surroundings, to speak aloud to each other, even if all con- 
versation had not been sternly forbidden. 
About 2 o'clock the boys and Harold were some distance in the 
rear, and so cold that they stopped to light a fire to warm themselves, 
while Jimmy descended about 400 feet on the eastern side of the 
mountain, and brought back a billy full of cold clear water from a 
running spring. I had left a mark on a tree at that spot to indicate 
the presence of water not far off, and Jimmy found my prophecy 
correct. On the top of a rocky peak, covered by the DracopliyUum 
and Bailey's Leptospermiim ivooroonooran, I waited for the boys to 
overtake me. This Leptospermioon is the extraordinary dome-topped 
tree previously described, and which has realised my expectation that 
it would be found entirely new to botanical science. 
About 5 o'clock tlia deepening darkness compelled us to stop and 
arrange our camp for the night. We halted on a flat-sided slope 
close to the north peak, in groves of beautiful ferns growing among 
tall moss-covered trees, all strangers to me, but none of them fruiting 
