etimes two hundred boats at anchor in the bay, each with four
thousand fish on the average, which must all be washed and packed in
four or five hours. Yes, the old days cannot be compared with the
present times, when, between the months of April and June, the three
hundred boats of Mounts Bay will land little short of three thousand
tons of mackerel, and the railway, for the mere carriage of these to
London, Manchester, Birmingham, etcetera, will clear above 20,000
pounds!

Nevertheless, the busy, bustling, hearty nature of the scene on Newlyn
beach in days of yore was not so very different as one might suppose
from that of the present time. The men were not less energetic then
than now; the women were not less eager; the children were quite as wild
and mischievous, and the bustle and noise apparently, if not really, as
great.

"What interests you?" asked Charlie Tregarthen, observing that his
companion gazed pointedly at some object in the midst of the crowd.

"That old woman," said Oliver; "see how demurely she sits on yonder
upturned basket, knitting with all her might."

"In the midst of chaos," observed Tregarthen, laughing; "and she looks
as placidly indifferent to the noise around her as if it were only the
murmuring of a summer breeze, although there are two boys yelling at her
very ear at this moment."

"Perhaps she's deaf," suggested Oliver.

Tregarthen said he thought this highly probable, and the two remained
silent for some time, watching, from an elevated position on the road
leading down to the sands, the ever-changing and amusing scene below.
Talk of a pantomime, indeed! No Christmas pantomime ever got up in the
great metropolis was half so amusing or so grand as that summer
pantomime that was performed daily on Newlyn sands, with admission to
all parts of the house--the stage included--for nothing! The scenery
was painted with gorgeous splendour by nature, and embraced the
picturesque village of Newlyn, with its irregular gables, variously
tinted roofs, and whitewashed fronts; the little pier with its modest
harbour, perfectly dry because of the tide being out, but which, even if
the tide had been in, and itself full to overflowing, could not
apparently have held more than a dozen of the larger fishing-boats; the
calm bay crowded with boats of all sizes, their brown and yellow sails
reflected in the clear water, and each boat resting on its own image.
On the far-off horizon might be seen the