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C. J. Cornish - The Naturalist on the Thames
grow with an added and more languid grace on the green bank of our flower-bordered brook, and the
American swamp-lily finds its natural place. Then special pools will be formed for the growth of those
plants, foreign and English, which love to have their roots in water-soaked mud or the beds of running
streams, while leaves and flowers rise far above into the light. Other pools should become "beds" for the
water-flowers that float upon the surface. In the slang of the rock garden the plants living and flourishing
on upright rocks are called "verticals." If we must have a slang for the flora of the brook garden we will
term them "horizontals" - the plants that lie flat on the water surface, and only use their stems as cables to
anchor them to the bottom of the stream. Of these we may plant, in addition to the white water-lily and
the yellow, the crimson scented water-lily and the wild water-villarsia. White water-crowfoot,
water-soldier, and arrowheads will form the fringe of the pool. But the crowning floral honour of the
brook garden is in the irises set in and beside its waters, chief among which are the glorious irises of
Japan - purple, blue, rose-colour, and crimson - the pink English flowering rush, big white mocassin
flowers, New Zealand flax, and pink buckbean, and bog arum. The great white arum of the greenhouse is
quite hardy out of doors if it is planted eighteen inches below water, and blossoms in the brook.
The brook garden is like a colony. It is always extending its range, following the course of the stream.
Each year adds a little more to the completeness of the lower pools, and each year some yards of the
upper waters and their banks are brought into partial harmony with the lower reaches. In one perfect
example of this kind of garden, under the Berkshire downs, the succession of trout-pools, water
gardening, half-wild banks, and turf-walk stretches for nearly a mile among the fields in a narrow glen,
unseen from either side, except for its narrow riband of tree-tops among the fields; but within its narrow
limits it is glorious with flowers, cascades, pools full of trout, set with water-plants in blossom, and the
haunt of innumerable birds. Even the wild ducks ascend to the topmost pools, and are constantly in flight
down the narrow winding vistas of grass, water, and trees, which they, like the kingfishers and
water-hens, seem to think are set out for their especial pleasure.
COTTAGES AND CAMPING OUT
This is supposed to be a "business" country, but one wonders why new wants which accompany any
change of daily habit are so slowly realised. Take, for instance, the annual migration to the Thames
Valley, which has assumed proportions never reached before. Beyond the enlargement of the riverside
inns, little has been done to meet this new taste of English families for rustic life in place of the seaside;
and though the thousands of visitors to the "happy valley" of our largest river do contrive to enjoy a
maximum of fresh air and outdoor life, this is often accompanied by a needless sacrifice of comfort. If
any improvements in the conditions of life by the river can be suggested and put into practice, these will
certainly benefit other districts. The profits accruing to intelligent provision for such a demand should
also be considerable. But the first condition is that the wants and wishes of those who take their pleasure
in this way should be properly understood.
The boating part of the river life is quite well organised; indeed, it would be difficult to improve upon it.
Its convenience and elasticity is remarkable. The way in which the leading boatbuilders provide craft of
all descriptions, which may be left by their hirers at any point on the river, to be brought back to Oxford
or Reading by train, is beyond all praise. It is a triumph of good sense and management. But boating is
only part of the amusement of the holiday, just as bathing is at the seaside. The real object with which an
ever-growing number of visitors have adopted the river life is in order to spend the utmost length of time
out of doors and in beautiful scenery. To this end they need accommodation of a special kind. The large
hotel, with its inducements to spend much time over meals and indoors, is wholly out of place for such a
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