“Foregoing Signatures.xxx “Francis Cadell, Esq., Commander, _Lady Augusta_.” [Illustration: AN AUSTRALIAN FARM SCENE] Sunday, October 9.—The weather, rather oppressively warm during the day, is now overcast and threatens some continuance of rain. Having, however, fortified myself with Roscoe’s admirable Memoir of Lorenzo di Medicis, I feel in some measure independent of clouds and sunshine. The books we have on board are numerous, and many of them excellent, but, after seven weeks, some novelty is refreshing. We passed Mooruna, the station of the Albert Commissioner, about 3 p.m., and left there some articles and stores for that official. It has not a pleasing aspect, being, even at this season, almost denuded of verdure, and, moreover, fiercely red. About dusk, we were hailed by a native from Messrs. Rutherford and Crozier’s station, and accordingly “lay-to,” taking Mr. Crozier on board. This detention, though at the time it appeared unnecessary, was of service to the Captain, as he was enabled to obtain, through Mr. Crozier and the natives of the station, the exact “whereabouts” of a sunken rock,[27] which lies nearly in mid-channel, and opposite to Rutherford’s Ferry. During the night, heavy rain fell, which wetted us a little in the cabin; but has not, we trust, injured the cargo. Saturday, October 8th.—The morning wet and cheerless, and so continued till we deposited Commissioner Cole at the station called Bob and Harry’s, which is not far distant from Lake Victoria—a sheet of water of some extent, connected with the Murray by a stream called the Rufus. At night, we anchored under some high sand cliffs, of singular formation, near the boundary of South Australia—which province, it is presumed, we have now entered. On Monday morning early, we expect to be at Mr. Chapman’s, remaining here all Sunday—which, to us, is a _dies non_. It now occurs to me, that I commenced these notes with a declaration and determination not to chronicle our daily proceedings on board, which, I had imagined, could not but prove “flat, stale, and unprofitable.” As, however, I have infringed on this rule, it may, perhaps, be now excusable to continue in transgression, by giving the routine of our river life. _Pour commencer_, then, we—that is, the gentlemen of the party, who sleep in the main cabin, the sofas of which form two tiers of berths—rise about six, sip some coffee, and dress in the fore cabin.[28] At a little before nine, is breakfast, a _déjeûner à la fourchette_; about twelve, bread and cheese, with a glass of ale or wine; at four is dinner, a substantial and most abundant meal, of which, good curry is a predominating feature; at seven, comes tea, which does not appear to be so favourite a beverage as it deserves—partly, perhaps, for want of milk, which is only occasionally obtained; at nine, the beds are made up; and about eleven, most on board appear to sleep. These particulars