JANUARY 17, 1836.
Early in the morning we passed the Nepean in a ferry-boat. The
river, although at this spot both broad and deep, had a very small
body of running water. Having crossed a low piece of land on the
opposite side, we reached the slope of the Blue Mountains. The
ascent is not steep, the road having been cut with much care on the
side of a sandstone cliff. On the summit an almost level plain
extends, which, rising imperceptibly to the westward, at last
attains a height of more than 3000 feet. From so grand a title as
Blue Mountains, and from their absolute altitude, I expected to
have seen a bold chain of mountains crossing the country; but
instead of this, a sloping plain presents merely an inconsiderable
front to the low land near the coast. From this first slope the
view of the extensive woodland to the east was striking, and the
surrounding trees grew bold and lofty. But when once on the
sandstone platform, the scenery becomes exceedingly monotonous;
each side of the road is bordered by scrubby trees of the
never-failing Eucalyptus family; and with the exception of two or
three small inns, there are no houses or cultivated land; the road,
moreover, is solitary; the most frequent object being a
bullock-waggon, piled up with bales of wool.
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