

THE HORNPIES' LEAD. 



OCTOBEK IN BKOADLAND. 



1 Along the woods, along the moorish fens. 

 Sighs the sad Genius of the coming storm. 



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The wanderers of heaven, 

 Each to his home retire, save those that love 

 To take their pastime in the troubled air, 

 Or skimming flutter round the dimply pool.' 



Thomson. 



missing 



DECIDED change has crept, almost imperceptibly, over Broadland, 

 and the face of nature in general. The eddying winds of autumn are 

 making inroads among the * sere and yellow' leaves that tint the hedge- 

 row and the woodland, but which are yet beautiful to look upon even 

 in their decay; the approach of winter has already made its influence 

 felt among the tribes of earth and air. The summer birds are entirely 



the chinking notes of the redbreast become almost as familiar as the 



