70 JULY IN BROADLAND. 



been left to enjoy our silent vigil. What a proper spread to be sure, and what a 

 nobby home-like cabin in which to spoil it ! Let us describe our ark's interior. As 

 you enter you are obliged to stoop, for the ceiling does not admit of standing. On 

 either side is a settle, which runs the length of the cabin : on them are soft hay 

 cushions; by day they are lounges, at night they serve as beds and mattresses. The 

 foundation of all is a great old fishing-smack's boat, more knocked about than worn 

 out on the rough North Sea. A bit of timber strengthened here and there, and 

 she answered famously. Beneath the settles are a number of lockers, in which vari- 

 ous household utensils find storage. A stove faces you as you enter from the stern- 

 sheets ; upon its magic bosom our friend works wonders in the line of cooking. The 

 cabin is double-boarded; and snug cupboards fill up the corners of it, and within 

 them are stowed the crocks and some other essentials for use and comfort. A 

 swing lamp, and ditto table, a tiny clock, and an aneroid barometer form the arti- 

 cles in suspension, to which may be added a fishing-rod and a fowling-piece for use 

 when legitimate occasion offers. The grainer and painter have added much to the 

 general appearance. Supper over and such a supper and appetite to boot, for the 

 Broadland air is provocative of the latter we turn in ; and wrapping our Austrian 

 blankets around us, sleep as only tired folk, at peace with God and all men, can 

 do; but it is late ere oblivion enshrouds us, for pleasant gossip goes on until speech 

 becomes incoherent and nature gives in altogether. We are not without floating 

 neighbours. Astern of us lie moored a couple of small yachts, covered by canvas 

 awnings. Beneath them are sleeping two parties of lusty young students, who are 

 ' doing ' the Broads in quest of health and pleasure after months of wearying toil 

 and study. Such is a summer's night spent in Broadland. 



We wake an hour or so after midnight, and steal out to take a peep at what 

 is going on around us. Skylarks are already welcoming the dawn of the peaceful 

 Sabbath, one is actually aloft, but it is yet too dark to discern him. The moon is 

 hidden again, but the stars are yet glistening in the firmament, their reflex making 

 the waters look cold and silvery. Gradually the dawn steals over the face of na- 

 ture. The small birds are waking and the bats are still flitting as if loath to turn 

 the night into day. The crowing of cocks sounds afar and near: and the snoring 

 of our artist -friend inside sounds nearer and louder. Black-headed buntings are 

 tuning their morning songs, and the twitter of the swallows announces their search 

 for an early breakfast. By three o'clock the stars have become dim, and the blue 

 sky abovehead is streaked with purple and crimson. In bunches the starlings are 

 quitting the reed-bed, and the quiet waters in which the big brown ' pokers ' of 

 the bulrushes are reflected become agitated with concentric rings as the large fish 



