132 DECEMBER IN BROADLAND. 



' Sir,' replies he, ' what matters it to wretched Cain whither he wanders, so long as 

 no one knows him, so long as a crust is to be had for the asking, and a public- 

 house is looming in the distance ? ' Alas ! for poor humanity. 



It is not sufficiently tempting to-day for us to venture out upon the open 

 Broad. The rain has ceased, and a streak of blue intervenes between the retreat- 

 ing rain-cloud and a darker one which follows. The wind still blusters, but from 

 the way the tell-tale on yonder mill-cap whirls round, and strange, harsh, grating 

 sounds proceed from part of the unoiled machinery, we notice it is veering a point 

 or two more northward. A pelting hailstorm bursts upon us. How keen the air 

 is becoming ! Sleet begins to mix with the lessening hailstones, and there is the 

 promise of snow in those mountainous clouds looming up from the horizon. The 

 sun. breaks out awhile, and tinges the whole scene with a warm ruddy hue, which 

 is superseded by a colder yellow. 



From a little brick Broadland bridge we are content to take our survey of the 

 Broads. Here in their leisure moments in the finer days, and on Sundays between 

 church times, the natives delight to ' mardle,' resting their chins upon their folded 

 arms on its parapets ; and here they love to ruminate. We are not one whit better 

 than they. Before us lies a Broad with a white-edged ripple dancing upon its 

 surface as the wind beats down it, flinging the froth in amongst the stems of the 

 bending reeds. The breeze for a moment lulls, and the yellow-brown reeds and 

 rushes duplicate themselves in the depths. Decaying leaves and broken stems 

 sprinkle the surface amongst them; the debris of the waterlilies, the mare's-tail, 

 and many another broad-plant are rotting to form fresh soil below. 



All around and about the Broad signs of the year's decadence are apparent. 

 The old willow's slender twigs are bare, and the beeches' more distorted branches 

 are as naked. Lichens are crowding the tree-trunks; only the fir-trees, in which 

 the wood-pigeons now resort at eventide, bear the slightest resemblance to their 

 summertime glories. We miss the songs of the woodland birds. The crek-rek- 

 rek of the moorhen is only heard at intervals, the scolding of the crested grebes we 

 listen for in vain. Most of them have gone to the milder southern counties, a few 

 may be found in winter in our open estuaries; to-day but one or two have ven- 

 tured to show themselves here. They will be ready to visit salt-water when the 

 Broad becomes clothed with an icy mantle. We do not discern even a pike-fisher 

 to-day. The only individual in keeping with our surroundings is a fenman cut- 

 ting reeds. We bring our glasses to bear upon him. A plank pushed over the 

 bows of his flat reed-boat rests upon it and the stumps of those reeds already cut ; 



