" . . . the dry bed of a lake coated over with a crust of salt, forming one unbroken sheet of pure white, and glittering brilliantly in the sun. On stepping upon this I found that it yielded to the foot, and that below the surface the bed of the lake consisted of a soft mud, and the further we advanced to the westward the more boggy it got, so that at last it became quite impossible to proceed, and I was obliged to return to the outer margin of the lake without ascertaining whether there was water on the surface of its bed further west or not." At this point Lake Torrens appeared to be about fifteen or twenty miles across, having high land bounding it to the west. The prospect, although half expected, was dismal in the extreme. There was no chance of crossing the lake, and to follow its shore to the north was impossible on account of the absence of grass and water, the very rain water turning salt after lying a short time on the saline ground. The only chance was in Flinder's Range supplying them with a little feed and rain water in its ravines, so to this range he struck. It was a cheerless outlook. On one side was an impracticable lake of combined mud and salt; in another a desert of bare and barren plains; and on a third, a range of inhospitable rocks. "The very stones lying upon the hills looked like the scorched and withered scoria of a volcanic region, and even the natives, judging from the specimen I had seen to-day, partook of the general misery and wretchedness of the place." Eyre steered for the most distant point of the northern range, which on arrival he christened Mount Deception, as he had hoped from its appearance that he would find water there, but in this he was deceived. Subsisting as best they could on rain puddles on the plains, they at last found a tolerably permanent hole in a small creek, and then returned to the party at the head of the Gulf. Arrived at the depôt, the cutter returned to Adelaide with dispatches, and the provisions having been concealed, the whole party made for the pool of water that Eyre and the boy had discovered. From here the leader and the native boy made another fruitless trip to the north-west, and although they at times discovered a few creeks with a fair amount of water in them, the 2nd of September found Eyre on the top of a small hill, that he appropriately named Mount Hopeless, gazing at the mysterious lake that, as he thought, hemmed him in on three sides, even to the east. There was no prospect visible of getting across this bed of mud and mirage, nothing to do but leave the interior unvisited by this route, and return to the Mount Arden depôt. From the Mount Arden depôt he made his way down to Port Lincoln, having finally decided to abandon his intended trip to the interior, and go westward to King George's Sound, finding, perhaps, some outlet to the north on the road.