LODDON LILIES 
89 
mind when brought face to face with Nature’s colouring. Slie 
fears neither bold contrast nor does she spare her tints. On 
every side as the summer advances we may see new proofs of 
her marvellous recklessness. Here a meadow golden with 
buttercups ; there an unproductive cornfield, scarlet by reason 
of the poppies which are so abundantly interspersed amongst the 
scanty stalks of the cereal. Vast tracts of one bright colour 
are succeeded immediately by others quite as gorgeous, and yet 
none of the tints jar upon the feelings, nor do they seem out of 
place in any sense of the word. How different is this to many 
of man’s artistic attempts ! He exercises infinite care and 
thought in the blending of colours and shades, and even then 
often fails to please. The flowers spring just where they will, 
and yet the result of their combined tints only awakens feelings 
of satisfaction and admiration. 
In the ditch below the bank there are still more plants — 
clumps of forget-me-not, spikes of self-heal, and the tiny land- 
cress. A fragrant perfume reveals the spot where young pepper- 
mint plants are springing : these and the glossy-leaved brook- 
lime, have scarce overtopped the grass as yet, and will not 
flower for weeks to come. 
But numerous as are the spring blossoms, they by no means 
represent the only objects of interest that this bank reveals to 
the careful, searching eye. 
Shining red ladybirds, bearing six black spots upon their 
broad backs, may here and there be seen upon the surface of 
a leaf. The bright points of colour that their presence produces 
catch the eye at once. The tiny creatures have crawled up 
from the ground below to bask in the welcome warmth of the 
sunshine. For the same purpose a little brown lizard has 
ventured from the crevice in which he has passed the winter 
months. He has come to a little spot of bare sun-dried earth, 
and is so absorbed in enjoyment of the warm rays as to be 
totally unconscious of a little sand thrown in his direction. Not 
until the end of a walking-stick almost touches his delicately 
tapering tail does he consider it necessary to bestir himself, and 
to glide into a neighbouring grass-tuft. 
Early in the year as it is, innumerable insects may be seen, 
both amongst the flowers and on the pathway. Far more than I 
can count or name are here. And all these creatures seem so 
glad and full of contentment ! Their welcome to spring is so 
unmistakable that one cannot but share some of the joy that 
the very fact of their existence expresses so plainly. 
Blot out fear, and that impulse which is ever directing the 
glance onward to the dark, impenetrable mist of futurity — and 
who could possibly dwell in this world and lack happiness ? 
Contemplation, though responsible for a fund of happiness, is 
also answerable for an equal amount of woe. Could we, like 
the birds and flowers, live for each moment as it comes, and for 
that moment alone, we could scarcely fail to be glad. 
