90 
NATURE NOTES 
Arrived at the little riverside inn, the best available punt is 
chartered — for the first water excursion of the season is in 
search of snowflakes, or “ Loddon Lilies,” as the 'lady at the 
bar terms them, with a glaring display of local pride {Leucojum 
cestivum). Nor are the blossoms unworthy of this high esteem, 
for they are by no means universally common, and their beauty 
is undeniable. But they are plentiful enough in all conscience 
by the banks of the Loddon. In their season enough and to 
spare may be had by all comers. 
The flowers closely resemble very large snowdrops, sup- 
ported upon stalks two or more feet high : the leaves are lance- 
like and narrow. The plants spring in dense clumps all along 
the river bank, often out of the very water itself. When the 
blossoms are at their best — thousands of white star-like points 
against the dark olive-green background of the leaves — one 
might roam far before finding a prettier sight. 
What an intense joy the water awakens ! To move upon its 
surface even in a heavy punt, with odd sculls, is a pleasure. 
The sense of motion and power, the gentle rippling as the water 
parts at the bows in shining lines, the slowly passing panorama 
of the bank — all these details go to make up that incomparable 
delight that the river is capable of inspiring. 
Above and around, adding a glory everywhere by its presence, 
is the sunshine. The warm light seems to penetrate the very 
soul, dispelling for a time by its presence all those gross and 
sordid thoughts which bind men to earth as the ship is held 
by its anchor to the ocean bed. Here, in the clear, unsullied 
light, the mind cannot lend itself to such meditations ; instead it 
is occupied with a great gladness — the joy of living. This glad- 
ness is not unmixed, however, for with it comes an involuntary 
craving for something more, something unknown and unattain- 
able. Perfection is all around, yet the whole being seems to 
stretch forth towards an invisible loveliness and meaning, as 
different and as far removed from the actual shapes of beauty, 
as is the soul from the body in which it finds a temporary home. 
Grand music, lovely flowers, perfection of form — all these please, 
but the soul cries aloud for still more beauty. For a while the 
delight of life and sunshine hold the mind as with a tender 
embrace, but ere long the senses are drawn to dwell upon the 
familiar sights and sounds of the river. There are the old 
pollard willows, just decking themselves once more in their 
spring garb of narrow green leaves. From niches in the moss- 
grown trunks tufts of dark fern-leaves show the last year’s 
growth of polypodies, which by some means have attained to 
these exalted positions. 
The alders, too, stooping lovingly over the waters, are like- 
wise putting forth their leaves. These are moist and crumpled 
yet as unstarched linen, but before long the influence of sun and 
air will work miracles on their behalf, and they will then appear 
as stiff and glossy as heart could wish. The banks are screened 
