Bendigo Diggings, July 14th, 1853.

Our road from the M'Ivor hither was alternately over plains and barren woodland ranges, scattered with white masses of quartz, and with the prickly acacia in flower. The roads, for the most part, were good, excepting a few miles on approaching the Campaspe. There we had several miles of the vilest crab-hole road, and a descent to the river horrid with masses of rock projecting from the hill-side. However, we bounced and tumbled over it as well as we could, and were rejoiced to find the river of the classical name so low that we could drive through without wetting the stores in the cart. This small river rises often twenty feet in a few hours, and in rainy seasons is utterly impassable. Just above our crossing-place lay a horse, drowned only a few days before, when the river was running furiously bank-full, and when the rider, endeavouring to swim him across, only escaped with great difficulty. The river runs from Mount Macedon, and is often fullest here when there has been no rain in this neighbourhood, the rain having been at the mount.

The greater part of the way from the M'Ivor to the Campaspe the country was very fine and pleasant to look at, and the weather superb. We advanced over open plains, bounded on our right by downs, green, flowing in their outlines, and as free from trees as the downs in England.