Close by the creek grows one of the loveliest of the wild trees, the native cherry (_Exocarpus cupressiformis_). There is quite an old-world charm in its formal cypress shape, which seems to reprove the irregular gums and she-oaks; and the gold-green of its tender tips stands out in lovely contrast against the blue-green and silver-grey of the other trees. When the setting sun catches it through the taller tree trunks it glows like a fairy Christmas tree, and one can picture the little folk dancing round it in a ring. It grows at the very edge of the once cultivated plot, and I think the planner of that garden must have stopped short just there in order to save the lovely thing. Beyond all this is natural bush, with tall spotted pink orchids pushing through in the spring-time, under the golden pultenea and dillwynia, and in summer a white cloud of snowbush. There is a peculiar fascination in the mixing of wild and tame in that wilderness. The white shasta daisies growing higher than my head in their effort to see the sun through the too protective red-shooted gums; the orange-flowered mistletoe drooping from the tall ironbark to touch the appletree below, seem to me symbolical of that mixing which should come so naturally between things--and people--of this land and of the old. [Illustration: _The orange-flowered Mistletoe_] Of all the trees in the wilderness there is none which so completely satisfies me as the white cedar (_Melia composita_). It grows on the upper edge, close to my verandah, and I know it through every varying phase. I never can decide in which season I love it most. It is one of our few deciduous trees, and after its pale golden leaves have dropped it is bare for a short space. Then a soft mauve mist breaks over it, and it is covered with a myriad lilac-coloured, lilac-scented blossoms, which pour their perfume lavishly into the world. I think it is a much lovelier tree than the lilac, for, while its colour is not so deep, the flowers grow in much lighter, more feathery fashion, and the whole effect is that of a mass of misty lace. While the blossoms are at their sweetest the little green leaf-tips have been bursting through. They grow swiftly from slender fingers to waving tassels, and then to open fans, and by the time the flowers are finished the tree is dressed in a beautiful fern-like foliage of glossy green. Nor do its charms end here. The flowers have left behind them hundreds of small green fruits, which grow and ripen, and by the time the autumn comes again and the leaves begin to fall they are ready to provide a beautiful feast for the birds. And so comes the white cedar’s crowning charm. A tree without birds in its branches is like a room without books on its shelves--the birds are the crowning charm. The poet knew that when he wrote ecstatically of-- A tree that may in summer wear A nest of robins in her hair.