Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, Fifth Series, No. 18, Vol. I, May 3, 1884

No. 18.—Vol. I.
Price 1½ d.
SATURDAY, MAY 3, 1884.
To many, the wild solitudes of marsh and mere, the rivers and ‘broads’ of Norfolk, are almost as entirely unknown as the arid solitudes of the unexplored Australian deserts. Yet there are few spots where the holiday-seeker can find more easily and cheaply relaxation and enjoyment than in these vast reedy wildernesses of East Anglia. Mr G. Christopher Davies, in his interesting book, Norfolk Broads and Rivers (Blackwood and Sons), paints in a graphic manner the engrossing charm of these placid inland seas, with their reedy margins shimmering softly green in the gray morning mists, or flushing into warm tints of beauty beneath the smile of sunset. A stranger is apt to fancy that marsh scenery is uninteresting; but the very reverse is the case; it has a beauty of its own, which is seldom even monotonous, so incessant is the play of sunshine and shadow over the wide sedgy flats and shallows. The marsh vegetation is luxuriant, even tropical in some of the more sheltered nooks among the reeds; grasses are abundant, and so are flowers, which often grow in broad patches, and warm with vivid gleams of colour the low-toned landscape. In May and June, the banks are gay with the vivid gold of the yellow iris and marsh buttercup; then come the crimson glow of the ragged-robin, the delicate blue of the forget-me-not, the deep purple flush of the loosestrife, and the creamy white of the water-lilies, which spread till they almost cover the shallow bays with their broad glossy leaves and shining cups of white and gold.
The reedy capes and bays, the sedgy islets, with the green park lands and wooded glades beyond, give an irresistible charm to these broads, which is enhanced by the soft stillness of their utter solitude and loneliness. The passing clouds and rising wind give a certain motion and variety to the great marsh plain; but nothing speaks of the busy world beyond save the white sail of a solitary yacht, or the rich red-brown canvas of a gliding wherry; and not a sound falls on the listening ear except the monotonous measured plash of the oars or the wild scream of the startled waterfowl. These wide watery plains, interesting at all seasons, are often extremely beautiful at sunrise and sunset. Then gorgeous sky-tints of gold and crimson are flashed back from the wide mirror-like expanse of the still lagoons with a vivid glow of colouring which is almost painful in its intensity. The great forests of reeds gleam like bundles of spears tipped with lambent flame, and the patches of feathery grasses and flowers are lit up with weird glimmers of rose-red and gold, glorious but evanescent. Light gray mists float up from the marshy hollows, mellowing the sunset glow with an indistinct quivering haze, which, mirage-like, cheats the wondering gazer with visions of ships and islands and wooded knolls, which he will search for in vain on the morrow.