onducted us out on the granite wall, built by the
Government to enclose the harbor and insuring the safety of the
fisher-fleet in fiercest storms. He had been a deep-sea fisherman
himself and told us much of the life of these sturdy fellows and the
hardships they endure for little pay.

[Illustration: NEAR LAND'S END.

From Water Color by Wm. T. Richards.]

The ordinary fishing boat is manned by five or six men and makes two
trips each week to the deep-sea fishing "grounds," seventy-five to one
hundred miles away. The craft is rude and comfortless in the extreme and
so constructed as to be nearly unsinkable if kept off the rocks. The
fish are taken by trawling great nets and drawing them aboard with a
special tackle. The principal catch of the Newlyn fishermen is herring,
which are pickled in the village and exported, mainly to Norway and
Sweden. The value of the fish depends on the state of the market, and
the price realized is often as low as a shilling per hundred weight. The
majority of the population of Cornwall is engaged directly or indirectly
in the fisheries, and considering the inferiority of most of the country
for agriculture and the extensive coast line with its numerous harbors,
it is not strange that so many of the natives should follow this life.
In earlier days, smuggling and wrecking constituted the occupation of a
large number of the Cornishmen, but under modern conditions these gentle
arts can no longer be successfully practiced, and fishing furnishes
about the only alternative.

Just across the peninsula is St. Ives, another fishing village, even
more picturesque than Newlyn and quite as much in favor with the
artists. To reach this town we turned a few miles from the main road on
the following day, but missed the fisher-fleet as before. The bay on
which St. Ives is situated is the most beautiful on the Cornish coast,
and on the day of our visit the bright stretch of water, sleeping
placidly under the June skies and dotted with glistening sails, well
maintained its reputation for surpassing loveliness. Before we entered
the town a man of whom we inquired the way advised us to leave our car
and walk down the sharp descent to the coast, where the village mostly
lies. The idea of the return trip was not pleasing, and we boldly
started down, only to wish we had been more amenable to the friendly
advice, for a steeper, narrower, crookeder street we did not find
anywhere. In places it was too narrow f