Even now, the beauty of the gum tree is not sufficiently appreciated by Australians, and we see all too few specimens in our suburban gardens. For an appreciation of the decorative effect of our young blue gums, we must go to the Riviera or to English conservatories. Australia has suffered greatly from phrase-makers. There is still much popular belief that our trees are shadeless, our rivers are waterless, our flowers are scentless, our birds are songless. Oddities in our flora and fauna have attracted the notice of superficial observers, and a preference for epigrammatic perfection, rather than for truthful generalization, has produced an abundance of neatly-expressed half-truths, which have been copied into popular literature, and even into school books. Our English-bred poet, Gordon, writes of lands-- "Where bright blossoms are scentless, And songless, bright birds." and these lines are remembered better than his description in the same poem of Spring-- "When the wattle gold trembles 'Twixt shadow and shine, When each dew-laden air draught resembles A long draught of wine." It is true that we have scentless, bright blossoms; but Australia is the home of the richly-perfumed wattle, and the boronia, with its never-cloying fragrance; while there is, perhaps, no forest more odorous than a forest of eucalypts. It is true, too, that we have bright birds that have no excellence in song; but it is also true that, in this favored land, there is a far greater proportion than usual of fine song-birds. The first generations of Australians were not taught to love Australian things. We "learned from our wistful mothers to call Old England home." Our school books and our story books were made in Great Britain for British boys and girls, and naturally they stressed what was of interest to these boys and girls. We read much about the beauty of the songs of the Lark, and the Thrush, and the Nightingale, but we found no printed authority for the belief that our Magpie is one of the great song-birds of the world; we read of the wonderful powers of the American Mocking-Bird, and did not know that our beautiful Lyrebird is a finer mimic; we learned by heart Barry Cornwall's well-known poem on "The Storm Petrel," and did not know that one of the most interesting of Petrel rookeries is near the harbor gate of Melbourne; and I remember well a lesson I heard as a boy on the migration of birds, in which the teacher took all of his illustrations from his boyish experiences in the South of England, and gave us no idea that the annual migration of our familiar Australian birds to far-off Siberia is a much more wonderful thing.