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with them before lambing time. The nux vomica must have lost its strength; it seems to have no effect on them.
Saturday, 29th.—Natives still quarrelling. Poor little Jucobang (my former protegée)—her child has died, and, I suppose to appease its manes, her husband speared in the thigh a nice little girl called Wulatneen. They are now busy digging the root of a broad sort of flag which grows in a swamp near this; some people say that this makes sago, or rather arrowroot. I must examine. It is tasteless to me, being fibrous and farinaceous.
Sunday, 30th.—Easter. Time was when it was a matter of religion (to say nothing of the pleasure) to eat numberless eggs on this day at the Bond's Glen, where father lived and my early life was spent. This morning I killed a lamb for our entertainment. The natives have been feasting on a sort of grub or worm which they find in numbers under the bark of the red gum trees. Those that I have had cut down present a fine store for them to have easy access to. The grub is a sort of long four-sided white worm or maggot, with a thick flat square head and a small pair of strong brown forceps set on the end of the head.
Monday, 31st.—Mr. Butler is here. He has been out exploring. Came to a lake not far from this in a N.N.W direction, towards the sea, which he reckons is 15 miles round, with good feeding about it and limestone soil.
Wednesday, April 2nd.—Got from the natives a piece of bread made of the root of the flag which they called yandyett. It tastes like a cake of oatmeal. They peel the root, roast and pound it, and bake it. The root is as thick as your finger, and a foot long. Some say it is arrowroot, but I made nothing out of it by pouring boiling water on it and simmering,
Wednesday, 9th.—The Merope is about to sail for Madras, via Mauritius, and to take the detachment of the 63rd on to head quarters at Madras. I fortunately brought this letter down and now take the opportunity of a moment of repose.
