ucidation of an important subject
in the body of the work, I feel it incumbent on me to proceed to the best
of my ability.
I have said that the soil of a country depends much upon its geological
formation. This appears to be particularly the case in those parts of the
colony with which I am acquainted, or those lying between the parallels of
30 degrees and 35 degrees south. Sandstone, porphyry, and granite,
succeed each other from the coast to a very considerable distance into the
interior, on a N. W. line. The light ferruginous dust that is distributed
over the county of Cumberland, and which annoys the traveller by its
extreme minuteness, to the eastward of the Blue Mountains, is as different
from the coarse gravelly soil on the secondary ranges to the westward of
them, as the barren scrubs and thickly-wooded tracts of the former
district are to the grassy and open forests of the latter.
As soon as I began to descend to the westward it became necessary to pay
strict and earnest attention to the features of the country through which
I passed, in order to determine more accurately the different appearances
which, as I was led to expect, the rivers would assume. In the course of
my examination I found, first, that the broken country through which I
travelled, was generally covered with a loose, coarse, and sandy soil;
and, secondly, that the ranges were wholly deficient in that peat
formation which fills the valleys, or covers the flat summits of the hills
or mountains, in the northern hemisphere. The peculiar property of this
formation is to retain water like a sponge; and to this property the
regular and constant flow of the rivers descending from such hills, may,
in a great measure, be attributed. In New South Wales on the contrary, the
rains that fall upon the mountains drain rapidly through a coarse and
superficial soil, and pour down their sides without a moment's
interruption. The consequence is that on such occasions the rivers are
subject to great and sudden rises, whereas they have scarcely water enough
to support a current in ordinary seasons. At one time the traveller will
find it impracticable to cross them: at another he may do so with ease;
and only from the remains of debris in the branches of the trees high
above, can he judge of the furious torrent they must occasionally
contain.
This seeming deviation on the part of Nature from her usual laws will no
longer appear such, if we consider its results
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