54 
A GUM TREE ON THE MURRAY. 
HERE is a nook near the river where a pleasant leisure 
hour may be spent. It is within sight and sound of 
the house. The path lies chiefly amongst bushes and 
saplings : a few tall gum trees fringe the bank : irregular 
cattle tracks intersect each other, leading down well-trodden 
slopes which break the steep bank at intervals : little dry creeks 
with sandy beds wind away from the river. Perpendicular cliffs 
descend to the water’s edge. Many little promontories jut out 
sharply. One of them supports a tree, which must soon share 
the fate of many half-submerged logs. Its isolated position 
attracts the attention and gives it a kind of personality, and a 
strange fascination seems to draw the observer, day after day, to 
watch the closing scenes of its life. The roots become more 
exposed every week, and present a fantastic network as the soil 
is gradually carried away from them. Those which still remain 
deeply rooted in the firm land cling with a desperate hold, 
until they are almost encircled, and the tree forms a miniature 
peninsula. 
The erect trunk declines slowly towards the river, until 
almost parallel with the surface of the water. Some of the 
branches dip into the river, then sink, forming little ripples 
which murmur a soft lullaby. Branches once horizontal now 
point upward, waving their greenery bravely, knowing that they, 
too, must soon be engulfed. Long slender roots reach out in a 
blind, helpless fashion, and finding no kindly earth to clasp, 
creep sadly downwards and take refuge in the mud beneath the 
water. Erosion goes on, until the last particle of earth gives 
way, and the tree slides into the river. Its trunk is still visible 
in varying proportion according to the rise and fall of the water, 
but it has lost caste with its proud forest companions. They 
stand aloof, rustling their free glad foliage in mockery of its 
departed glory. Even its name amongst the sons of men is 
taken away. It is no longer a tree but a snag, the sport of all 
the floating debris of the current. Things which appeared tiny 
atoms from its former height now assume huge dimensions as 
they loom upon its watery horizon, striking it insolently as they 
pass. The scattered foam-flakes ride over it, playing at hide- 
and-seek amongst the half-submerged branches. It lies there, 
pathetic in its helplessness, holding out pitiful appealing arms, 
but it compels something more than our pity. It can still be 
“ glad for what was.” 
It has grown in slender grace during the slow years, the 
breezes have sung mystical melodies through the leaves. The 
birds have built their nests in its branches : it has watched an 
instinct, kindled by divine love, tending these airy cradles, and 
has stretched out strong arms to support the feeble steps of the 
tender birdlings. It has been a city of refuge to some beautiful 
