In following a five-thousand-mile motor journey through Britain, there
will be little to say of Penzance, a pleasant resort town, yet without
anything of notable importance. A mile farther down the coast is Newlyn,
a fishing-village which has become a noted resort for artists and has
given its name to a school of modern painting. A handsome building for a
gallery and art institute, and which also serves as headquarters for the
artists, has recently been erected by a wealthy benefactor. We walked
over to the village, hoping to learn that the fisher-fleet would be in
the next morning, but were disappointed. A man of whom we inquired
informed us that the fishermen would not bring in their catch until two
days later. He seemed to recognize at once that we were
strangers--Americans, they all know it intuitively--and left his task to
show us about the immense quay where the fishermen dispose of their
catch at auction. He conducted 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.