CHAPTER IX 
Letter XII. Wyalla. — Old Bloomfield Mill — Beautiful scenes — A hard 
climb up Mount Macmillan — A glorious flower-world — A trip to the 
Moravian Mission Station — A doggy incident — The much-abused 
eucalyptus — A good-bye visit to a camp. 
Letter XIII. Cooktown. — A comfortless journey — Various beds. 
Wyalla. 
I HAVE been going through all the sensations of a new 
enterprise, and have made and baked the three last 
batches of bread for the family. You will say I might 
have spared their digestions, but it was really just 
“ done to a turn,” not “ as light as a feather,” but just 
as bread ought to look. I get up at five in the morn- 
ing too, which is another advantage, though I never 
believe in the old adage of the early bird and the 
worm. Here one must learn to do everything oneself, 
for your fickle Mary Jane is a creature of impulse, and 
never consults your wishes ; but when the fancy takes 
her, and when the solitudes of the bush pall on her, she 
packs up her bag and walks. 
I have now been here for a fortnight, and my visit 
is drawing to a close, though as yet it is rather a puzzle 
to know how I am to get back to Cooktown, and as D.’s 
boat was so long in arriving, I do not fancy the idea of 
trusting myself in her. We have led, I suppose, a 
rather monotonous life, though to me it is so new 
that it has endless interests in the native camps and 
