Coming to a range of granite, steep, bare, and smooth, Colonel Warburton clambered up its face on hands and knees, to find there a fine hole or basin in the rock, perfectly round and nearly full of water. This hole was, of course, the work of nature, and, strange to say, was on the point of a smooth projecting part of the rock, where it would have seemed impossible that any water could lodge. How it was wrought in such a place one cannot imagine, but the position was so prominent as to be visible from the plain at a considerable distance. Another day the travellers fell in with a bees’ hive;—unfortunately, it was empty. The Australian bee is stingless, and very little larger than our common house-fly, but its honey is remarkably sweet. The nest, or “sugar-bag,” as the bushmen call it, is generally made in a hollow tree. They also saw some specimens of the crested dove—one of the loveliest of the Australian pigeons. In truth, it is hardly surpassed anywhere in chasteness of colouring and elegance of form, while its graceful crest greatly enhances the charm of its appearance. It frequently assembles in very large flocks, which, on visiting the lagoons or river banks for water, during the dry seasons, generally congregate on a single tree or even branch, perching side by side, and afterwards descending in a body to drink; so closely are they massed together while thus engaged, that dozens may be killed by a single discharge of a gun. Their flight is singularly swift; with a few quick flaps of the wings they gain the necessary impetus, and then sail forward without any apparent exertion.