to follow the bend of the river, with an even and unbroken outline. The scenery around us was wild, romantic, and beautiful; as beautiful as a rich and glowing sunset in the most delightful climate under the heavens could make it. I had been more anxious to gain the banks of the Morumbidgee on this occasion, than I had been on a former one to gain those of the Macquarie, for although I could not hope to see the Morumbidgee all that it had been described to me, yet I felt that on its first appearance I should in some measure ground my anticipations of ultimate success. When I arrived on the banks of the Macquarie, it had almost ceased to flow, and its current was so gentle as to be scarcely perceptible. Instead, however, of a river in such a state of exhaustion, I now looked down upon a stream, whose current it would have been difficult to breast, and whose waters, foaming among rocks, or circling in eddies, gave early promise of a reckless course. It must have been somewhat below its ordinary level, and averaged a breadth of about 80 feet. Its waters were hard and transparent, and its bed was composed of mountain debris, and large fragments of rock. As soon as the morning dawned, the tents were struck and we pursued our journey. We followed the line of the river, until we found ourselves in a deep bight to the S.E. The hills that had been gradually closing in upon the river, now approached it so nearly, that there was no room for the passage of the drays. We were consequently obliged to turn back, and, moving along the base of the ranges, by which we were thus
apparently enclosed, we at length found a steep pass, the extreme narrowness of which had hidden it from our observation. By this pass we were now enabled to effect our escape. On gaining the summit of the hills, we travelled south for three or four miles, through open forests, and on level ground. But we ultimately descended into a valley in which we halted for the night. On a closer examination of the neighbourhood, it appeared that our position was at the immediate junction of two valleys, where, uniting the waters of their respective creeks, the main branch declines rapidly towards the river. One of these valleys extended to to the S.W., the other to the W.N.W. It was evident to us that our route lay up the former; and I made no doubt we should easily reach Whaby's station on the morrow.
We were now far beyond the acknowledged limits of the located parts of the colony, and Mr. Whaby's station was the last at which we could expect even the casual supply of milk or other trifling relief. Yet, although the prospect of so soon leaving even the outskirts of civilization, and being wholly thrown on our own resources, was so near, it never for a moment weighed upon the minds of the men. The novelty of the scenery, and the beauty of the river on which they were journeying, excited in them the liveliest anticipations of success. The facility with which we had hitherto pushed forward blinded them to future difficulties, nor could there be a more cheerful spectacle than that which the camp daily afforded. The animals browzing in the distance, and the men talking over their pipes of the
probable adventures they might encounter. The loads had by this time settled properly, and our provisions proved of the very best quality, so that no possible improvement could have been made for the better.
On the morrow we pushed up the southernmost of the valleys, at the junction of which we had encamped, having moderate hills on either side of us. At the head of the valley we crossed a small dividing range into another valley, and halted for the night, on the banks of a creek from the westward, as we found it impossible to reach Whaby's station, as we had intended, before sunset. Nothing could exceed the luxuriance of the vegetation in this valley, but the water of the creek was so impregnated with iron, as to be almost useless. Being anxious to obtain a view of the surrounding country, I ascended a hill behind the camp, just as the sun was sinking, a time the most favourable for the object I had in view. The country, broken into hill and dale, seemed richer than any tract I had as yet surveyed; and the beauty of the near landscape was greatly heightened by the mountainous scenery to the S. and S.E. Both the laxmania, and zanthorea were growing around me; but neither appeared to be in congenial soil. The face of the hill was very stony, and I found, on examination, that a great change had taken place in the rock-formation, the granite ranges having given place to chlorite schist.
We reached Whaby's about 9 a.m. of the morning of the 27th, and received every attention and civility from him. The valley in which we had slept opened upon an extensive plain, to the eastward of which the Morumbidgee formed
the extreme boundary; and it was in a bight, and on ground rather elevated above the plain, that he had fixed his residence. He informed me that we should have to cross the river, as its banks were too precipitous, and the ranges too abrupt, to admit of our keeping the right side; and recommended me to examine and fix upon a spot at which to cross, before I again moved forward, expressing his readiness to accompany me as a guide. We accordingly rode down the river, to a place at which some stockman had effected a passage,—after a week's labour in hewing out a canoe. I by no means intended that a similar delay should occur in our case, but I saw no objection to our crossing at the same place; since its depth, and consequent tranquillity, rendered it eligible enough for that purpose.
The Dumot
river, another mountain stream, joins the Morumbidgee opposite to Mr. Whaby's residence. It is little inferior to the latter either in size or in the rapidity of its current, and, if I may rely on the information I received, waters a finer country, the principal rock-formation upon it being of limestone and whinstone. It rises amidst the snowy ranges to the S.E., and its banks are better peopled than those of the stream into which it discharges itself. Of course, such a tributary enlarges the Morumbidgee considerably: indeed, the fact is sufficiently evident from the appearance of the latter below the junction.
During our ride with Whaby down its banks, we saw nothing but the richest flats, almost entirely clear of timber and containing from 400 to 700 acres, backed by ranges that were but partially wooded, and were clothed with ver