170 THE LAND'S END 



larly intelligent and sympathetic face, and to hear her 

 was a pleasure and a relief, for it was on the eve of 

 the last general election, when all the Little Bethels of 

 Bolerium were being put to strange uses and pulpits 

 were the rostrums of enraged politicians in white ties. 

 She, sweet woman, preached only religion pure and 

 simple in a nice voice without hysteria and with a 

 charming persuasiveness. To hear her was to love 

 her. A few days later she left the town, and then 

 one who was interested in her work rushed in to the 

 minister of the chapel to ask how many souls she had 

 won for Christ on this occasion. For she had on 

 previous visits been very successful in making con- 

 verts. " Not one this time," answered the minister. 

 "We were too busy with the elections." 



A remark made by one of the fishermen at a small 

 coast village near Land's End about Brett, the marine 

 painter, affords another pretty example of the native 

 unconscious humour. Brett's outspoken atheism and 

 brusque manners greatly offended the fisherfolk, and 

 when he began work they watched him very narrowly, 

 curious to know what kind of picture so extraordinary 

 a person would produce. It astonished them to see 

 him use his palette-knife instead of a brush to put 

 on paint and spread it over the canvas. They had 

 never seen such a method before, and it appeared to 

 them wrong or not a legitimate way. One day on 

 the beach they were discussing the strange artist within 

 their gates with reference to some fresh cause of 

 offence on his part, when the remark was made by 

 one, " What can you expect of a man who says 



