Leaving the Eastern Marshes the following morning, we again pursued our way through the Bush, over as wretched roads as heretofore, and by noon had reached the foot of the Sugarloaf Mountain, a most formidable part of our journey.

A high and rugged mountain-tier wholly encompasses the fertile district of Great Swan Port on the land side, rendering it imperative upon us to scale it at some point; and, after much deliberation and many inquiries as to what bridges were broken—such bridges too! a Welsh pony would scarcely trust them in their best days—and what gullies were altered by floods, and what new fences now crossed old roads—whether such as could be pulled down to pass through (the putting up again after passing, being a point of honour with respectable travellers, who do as they would be done by), and where certain slip-rails were to be found, and where we must “look out for the bull-dog that was always loose,” and other pleasant little items of preliminary information essential to be acquired;—after all was canvassed, the Sugarloaf route was decided on as the best. My readers will be kind enough to imagine, if they journey with me to the end, what the other routes must be. There was an alternative proposed, of “taking the Thumbs for it”—a part of the ridge with three hummocks called the “Three Thumbs” being sometimes traversed instead of the Sugarloaf; but the latter was finally preferred.