t it took place in Gulval parish, in the summer of 1814: "I
remember the black bull being led by four men. The crowd was dispersed
early in the morning by a severe thunderstorm, which much alarmed the
people, who thought it (I was led to believe) a judgment from heaven."
This proves that their minds were already uneasy. It is devoutly to be
wished that all those whose so-called sports cause suffering to
animals may be equally on the watch for judgments from heaven. The
village of old Madron is very beautiful and interesting.

Newlyn, a long mile beyond Penzance, in spite of the painters who have
carried its name far and wide, is still largely unspoiled. It must be
said for painters that they do not spoil a place as other visitors so
often do; in fact, all change--modernising, restoring, destroying--is
opposed to their sense of fitness; they are champions of the
picturesque and sworn foes of the jerry-builder. Newlyn remains quaint
and fishy, though it has its little Art Gallery and its Rue des Beaux
Arts. There are artistic industries also--copper repousse and
enamel jewellery; a new Renaissance has come to this Cornish
fishing-village--its youths and maidens are learning mysteries of
beautiful craft which may save them from the deadly inanities of the
average British workman. When we speak of early Newlyn days, of course
we mean the days of the first artistic settlement, some thirty years
since; older Newlyn has little to tell, except that it was burnt by
the Spanish, and that its life has always been bound up with the
fortunes of the fishery. Mr. Stanhope Forbes has told us something of
the place as he first knew it. "I had come from France, where I had
been studying, and wandering down into Cornwall, came one spring
morning along that dusty road by which Newlyn is approached from
Penzance. Little did I think that the cluster of grey-roofed houses
which I saw before me against the hillside would be my home for so
many years." But he bewails that Newlyn is not what it was; there has
been some spoliation, some pulling down of old cottages, some
unsightly intrusion of the ugly and modern, though certainly less than
might have been feared. It was here that Frank Bramley painted his
"Hopeless Dawn" and "After Fifty Years"; here Walter Langley painted
"Among the Missing," and Mr. Forbes "The Health of the Bride." It
would be hopeless to attempt to name all the pictures that
have carried different aspects of Newlyn life to t