On Friday, the 26th, he reached Blaxland's furthest point, and thenceforward passed over new ground.

It is somewhat amusing to note that his opinions of the country when on his outward way and on his homeward, are widely divergent.

He candidly and ingenuously writes, after he has been on the table-land:-- "What appeared to me fine country on my first coming to it, looks miserable now after returning from so superior and good a country." On Tuesday, the 30th of November, he gained a ridge that he had had in view for some time, though he had been "bothered" by the hills in his efforts to reach it.

From this ridge he caught a tantalising view, a glimpse of the outskirts of the vast interior.
There before him, the first white man to look upon the scene, lay the open way to two thousand miles of fair pasture-lands and brooding desert-wastes -- of limitless plains and boundless rolling downs -- of open grassy forests and barren scrubs -- of solitary mountain peaks and sluggish rivers; and, though then hidden from even the most brilliant imagination, the wondrous potentialities latent in that silent and untrodden region.

If a vision of the future had been vouchsafed Deputy-Surveyor Evans as he stood and gazed -- a vision of all that would cover the spacious lands before and beyond him before one hundred years had passed away -- the entry he made in his diary would surely have reflected in its style his flight of imagination.