This can scarcely be considered a digression from my narrative of this
day's journey, for Warrawolong was the only object visible, beyond the
woody horizon. We had passed No-Grass Valley, the Devil's Backbone, and
were approaching Hungry Flat, when Mr. Simpson produced a grilled fowl,
and a feed for our horses and we alighted most willingly for half an hour
to partake of this timely refreshment near a spring.

On remounting I bade Mr. Simpson farewell, after expressing my
satisfaction with his clever arrangements for opening this mountain road,
a work which he had accomplished with small means in nine months.

THE WOLLOMBI.

It was quite dark on the evening of the 26th, before I reached the inn
near the head of the little valley of the Wollombi, a tributary to the
river Hunter. Here, at length, we again find some soil fit for
cultivation, and the whole of it has been taken up in farms. But the
pasturage afforded by the numerous valleys on this side of the mountains,
here called cattle runs, is more profitable to the owners of the farms,
than the farms they actually possess, of which the produce by cultivation
is only available to them at present, as the means of supporting grazing
establishments. I should here observe, that in a climate so dry as that
of Australia, the selection of farmland depends solely on the direction
of streams, for it is only in the beds of watercourses, that any ponds
can be found during dry seasons. The formation of reservoirs has not yet
been resorted to, although the accidental largeness of ponds left in such
channels has frequently determined settlers in their choice of a
homestead, when by a little labour, a pond equally good might have been
made in other parts, which few would select from the want of water. In
the rocky gullies, that I had passed in these mountains, there was,