LAKE TORRENS A SALT MARSH 107 



spent a week or two in the desert to the north-east. I 

 was accompanied by one white attendant only, and a 

 couple of blackfellows. This journey, out of the beaten 

 track, was trying enough ; but railways will ultimately 

 open up all this country, and what is of interest to-day 

 will become common and unworthy of notice to-morrow, I 

 fear. For I have perceived that one peculiar trait of my 

 advancing countrymen is that they are greatly interested 

 in the hidden portions of their wonderful land only so 

 long as they are unknown. As soon as the country is 

 opened up, and its capabilities for money producing well 

 known, interest in its natural wonders wanes rapidly. I 

 am sorry to see this money grubbing spirit so rife. 

 Strangers come hither with the unconcealed intention of 

 using the land for the sordid purpose of amassing wealth 

 to be spent in their mother countries ; and even our 

 home-born sons frequently nurse the desire to forsake the 

 country when their purses are full, and spend their latter 

 days in the land from whence their forefathers came. 

 When the land is thickly peopled and covered with a net- 

 work of railways, what will be the lot of what I shall here 

 call the Lake Torrens district? Will it be left as a 

 desolate playground for the tired citizen who is willing to 

 face danger and privation as a welcome change from too 

 much prosperity ? or will the manufacturer and the miner 

 find huge fortunes here ? The latter will probably be the 

 lot of the country, for it is rich in certain classes of mineral 

 productions ; and the ground covered by the so-called 

 lakes, if drained, will, I think, be found to be very rich 

 land. 



Lake Torrens is a salt marsh of great extent, a large 

 portion of its surface being hidden in reed beds. The salt 

 is as white as snow ; but the layer is not very thick, in 

 those parts I visited being generally from half an inch 

 to two inches only. It will not bear the weight of horse or 

 man, breaking under slight pressure like thin ice. 

 Beautifully white as it is it covers a bed of black, stinking 

 mud, so soft that it is impossible to walk over it. It seems 

 to be impossible to devise any means of crossing this 



