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.

Adjacent country.

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.