nwards and become a mass of ruins. No lives were lost, but, as only
one house remained standing, the poor fishermen were only saved from
destitution by the sums of money collected for their relief.

Architecturally speaking, Hinderwell is a depressing village, and there
is little to remember about the place except an extraordinary block of
two or three shops, suitable only for a business street in a big city,
but dumped right into the middle of this village of low cottages. The
church is modern enough to be uninteresting, but in the graveyard St.
Hilda's Well, from which the name Hinderwell is a corruption, may
still be seen.

In 1603 there was a sudden and terrible outbreak of plague in the
village. It only lasted from September 1 to November 10, but in that
short time forty-nine people died. It seems that the infection was
brought by some men from a 'Turkey ship' that had been stranded on the
coast, but, strangely enough, the disease does not appear to have been
carried into the other villages in the neighbourhood.

Scarcely two miles from Hinderwell is the fishing-hamlet of Staithes,
wedged into the side of a deep and exceedingly picturesque beck.
Here--and it is the same at Runswick--one is obliged to walk warily
during the painter's season, for fear of either obstructing the view of
the man behind the easel you have just passed, or out of regard for the
feelings of some girls just in front. There are often no more chances of
standing still in Staithes than may be enjoyed on a popular golf-links
on a fine Saturday afternoon. These folk at Staithes do not disturb one
with cries of 'Fore!' but with that blank Chinaman's stare which comes
to anyone who paints in public.

The average artist is a being who is quite unable to recognise
architectural merit. He sees everything to please him if the background
of his group be sufficiently tumble-down and derelict. If this be
incorrect, how could such swarms of artistic folk paint and actually
lodge in Staithes? The steep road leading past the station drops down
into the village, giving a glimpse of the beck crossed by its ramshackle
wooden foot-bridge--the view one has been prepared for by guide-books
and picture postcards. Lower down you enter the village street. Here the
smell of fish comes out to greet you, and one would forgive the place
this overflowing welcome if one were not so shocked at the dismal aspect
of the houses on either side of the way. Many are of compara