JULY IN BROADLAND. 



Glide gently, thus for ever glide, 

 Bure ! that anglers all may see 



As lovely visions by thy side 

 As now, fair river, come to me.' 



MID a blaze of colouring, and beaming with sunshine, July makes its 

 advent in the 'Land of the Broads.' A thousand forms of insect-life 

 hum and drone its praises as they dance and flirt in the sunlight; a 

 legion of wild-flowers open their petals and welcome its warm kisses. 

 In town and city the heat has become oppressive, and hosts of holiday 

 makers crowd down to the sea-shore and the country in quest of rest 

 and health. We, too, would banish awhile the worries and cares of town -life 

 and take a longed-for respite from them. Broadland, with its quiet waterways and 

 quieter lagoons, is to us far preferable to the more animated resorts where, even 

 in their hard-earned leisure, each yet jostles against the shoulders of his fellow. 

 Give us the silent-flowing river and the silvery lake, where the ripple laps sooth- 

 ing music around the white-winged vessel, and the tall reeds rustle and sough as 

 the playful winds sway them to and fro. 



Our friend the artist is still at work on the Broads with brush and palette; 

 indeed, so busy is he that he has banished himself awhile from society, and in his 

 quaint Noah's ark of a house-boat is living afloat, taking his house as the snail 

 takes his, wherever he may feel disposed for the time to settle. Grladly have we 

 agreed to spend a day or two with him. 



Our old acquaintance, the wherryman, most fortunately, is about to loose the 

 lopsy from her picturesque moorings near the old North Tower, taking advantage 

 of the early flood. He has recently brought down a cargo of oak-billet timbers 



