and if it came on a breeze of wind, or the net got fouled, or a dozen other things, you would be in everybody's way. Besides, the men might not like it, and you might get sick; and, after all, there isn't much to see; and I know that, so far as I am concerned, if I was not forced to it, I would sooner be tucked up comfortable in bed than getting wet.”

"Well, but look here, señor patron, this kind of thing is not altogether new to me, though I have never been after the sardine. The fact is, I was brought up in a fishing village, and could steer and row when only eight years old. In addition, I have knocked about at sea considerably, have crossed the Atlantic four times, have run through blockades on the American coast, and might perhaps be able to bear a hand if you were pushed."

"Hola, caballero," exclaimed the patron with beaming face-"hola, so you are a bit of a salt yourself; touch there," holding out his hand. "You shall make a trip, never fear, and it just happens that I am one short of my complement."

Having noticed half a dozen of the crew at the center-table, I suggested to Clementi Orué that he should call them over to drink the health of the new hand. This was done, and I saw the arrangement met with their entire approval, more especially that part in which was mentioned a keg of aguardiente and two or three bundles of cigars. Then it was agreed that the patron should take his evening meal with me in the same place, and that, wind and weather permitting, the galley would cast off at nightfall.

Well, at the time appointed, I found Clementi Orué awaiting me, and on a chair by his side rested a formidable-looking bundle.

"Here I am, señor, and here's your kit. There's just a steady capful from the northwest, which will be dead against us working out, but fair for running in. As it is more than probable we shall get a wetting, I have brought you a stout flannel guernsey and a pair of oilskin overalls, so leave your coat with the Widow Martinez. I see you wear the boina, like the rest of us, and alpargatas (canvas shoes with hemp soles), but slip off the socks-that's so-now then for the guernsey and overalls-bravo! and I'd like to see the fellow to you.-Hola, Widow Martinez; hola, chicas; come and look at the caballero Ingles; here's a novio (sweetheart) for the best among you."

Our supper was soon disposed of, and the patron slinging the keg of aguardiente over his shoulder, and tucking the cigars under his arm, we made down the mole for the galley. All hands were in readiness to start, and amid hearty wishes of good luck from a cluster of women and girls, we cast loose, ond paddled toward the VOL. VI.-30

mouth of the bay-it appeared that two other galleys were to put to sea that night, and had already worked out. As we reached the opening between island and mainland, the masts had been stepped, and at the word "hoist" from the patron, the two leg-of-mutton sails went up. There was a list to port, followed by a soughing, rushing sound, three or four smacks against the bows, a succession of clouds of spray which soaked everything and everybody fore and aft, and then the men settling into their places to starboard, and a taughtening pull being got at the sheets, away we went on a westerly course, running diagonally outward from the coast. Clementi Orué had suggested the coiled net on the stern-board as a good seat for me, and against this he leaned and worked the steering-oar. The night was rather dark, the sky being patched with clouds, and there would be no moon for an hour or more; still, as the patron said, if there were fish he'd manage to catch them without candles.

"By the way, it never occurred to me to ask the name of your boat—what is it?"

"La Santisima Trinidad." Here Clementi Orué crossed himself, as did most of the crew, so far as I could distinguish in the gloom. “Sí, señor, La Santisima Trinidad. She belonged to three of us-three brothers; two have been drowned, I am the last. You see, señor, we were caught four years ago come San Pedro, off Cape Machichaco-that light away yonder on the port bow-in a tearing hurricane. It struck us almost without warning, and before we could either get sail in, or head on to it, we were bottom up. I never saw my brothers from the moment the boat capsized, and with them were lost six others. It was a wonderful business altogether; a few minutes before the sea was like a looking-glass, and a quarter of an hour afterward there wasn't a ripple. The six saved, including myself, were taken off the keel by a Bermeo galley, and the Santisima Trinidad was towed in and righted. The oars, spars, sails, and nets were, however, missing. But she's a good stiff boat; and will carry on, going free or close hauled, with any other-won't she, lads?"

“Ay, ay, patron; there's no better out of Lequeitio, or for that matter out of any of the ports on the coast; see how she flies, and well up in the wind too."

She certainly was moving along, though heading considerably to windward, and on the course we were going made capital weather, and was remarkably steady.

"Well, patron, let us hope you have seen your last accident in the Santisima Trinidad; come, serve out a cigar and a glass of aguardiente all round, and we'll drink good fortune to the boat and long life to her owner."

This was done, the steering-oar, meantime, being confided to me, and then after about an hour and a half of the same course, to just abreast the Machichaco light, we went about, and made due north for an offing. Our speed was nearly doubled, and as the moon had risen, and now and again broke through the clouds, we caught an occasional glimpse of the two other boats, about a mile to windward. Suddenly Joaquin, one of the men, who was standing on a thwart and leaning against the foremast, sang

out:

"Sardina, sardina, sardina — yonder away, dead in the wind!"

Yes; there was the shoal, a luminous, phosphorescent streak, some hundreds of yards in length.

In an instant the galley's head was brought round, the canvas shook and flapped, and in another moment down went the sails. Then the oars were got out, and away we went, thudding through the seas which came stem on. Joaquin, in the bows, had a boom with block at end ready, and a coiled line, made fast to the outgoing extremity of the net, was passed forward, and this he rove through the block, and then rigged the boom firmly, so as to project from six to eight feet. All this had been done in the twinkling of an eye, the men, the while, bending to their oars with a will.

"Stand clear of the net, señor, and lend me a hand when the moment comes to pay out.-Give way, my lads, give way, or we shall have Pedro Artégui and José Echevarria down on the shoal before we get a cast; the wind will blow them clean on to it. Pull, chicos, pull, for sardines at twenty reals the thousand. They'll be well worth every farthing of it to-morrow, and only three boats out. Pull, boys, pull; Pedro and José have got a sight and are bound for the fish under full canvas. Give way-will you let a hundred reals each slip through your fingers? Pull, by all the saints in heaven, pull! Give way, chicos, give way, the sea's alive with them, and one cast will be a fortune for all of us!”

"Pay out, pay out!" shouted Joaquin, as the galley seemed to cleave into a liquid phosphorescent fire, flakes of which, in the shape of sardines, flew sparkling from the oar-blades.

While I rapidly cleared coil after coil of the net, the patron cast it adrift, Joaquin, meanwhile, slacking out the messenger-line through the block at the end of the boom. As the last coil went over, the line with it was only allowed to run a dozen yards or so, and then made fast. The oars were now tossed inboard, and the men commenced lifting the false flooring which fitted to about two feet above the keel, and wooden scoops were placed handy.

"Haul in fore and aft!" cried the patron, and half a dozen men clapped on to each line, bringing the net inward, to bow and stern, in a semicircle, the form of which could be traced by the myriads of glistening fish that sought to escape over the floating corks.

But it seemed, despite these signs, that we had been too hasty and had made a false cast, for it soon became apparent we were only on the edge of the shoal, which was making away to windward, and right on to the galleys of Pedro Artégui and José Echevarria.

"Now may the saints have you in their holy keeping, Señor Joaquin, for the good you have done us! See, there go the fish, my lads, but haul in smartly, or the few we have will manage to get away. What say you, chicos, shall we make a present of this take to buy spectacles for Joaquin ?"

Joaquin muttered something, to the effect that he was not the only one in the boat wanting eyes, and that he had given the word at the right time, that the galley's head was allowed to pay off, and what further observations he made were lost in a grumble. When the whole of the net had been gathered in, the scoops barely succeeded in getting a couple of bushels.

In anything but a good humor the patron gave the word to hoist sails, and as we turned again seaward the moon rose from a bank of clouds, and in its light we could see the galleys of Pedro Artégui and José Echevarria laying over to the weight of fish they were taking. One thing was positive, that we had left them behind, and that whatever we fell in with now we should have to ourselves. Well, for hours we tacked and retacked, making for wherever there appeared indications, and at dawn, greatly discouraged, Clementi Orué suggested putting about and steering homeward. At this moment Joaquin, who had been perched moodily in his usual place, turned to the patron, and asked him to look in the direction to which he pointed-the northeast. There was a line of light on the water and a broadening streak of morning in the sky. Scores of sea-gulls were eddying in circles, now poising for an instant, and then swooping down to the surface.

"If that doesn't mean fish," said Joaquin, in rather a sulky manner, "may I never catch another sardine as long as I live!"

"Right, my lad," replied the patron cheerily ; "there are sardines there by millions, and as they are to leeward we can strike them where we choose.-Now, then, my lads, have everything in readiness, and stand by to down sail when I give the word."

In about a quarter of an hour we were right on to, and apparently near the center of, the shoal, which must have been a mile in length.

Every rising wave was literally alive with fish, and as we struck in they leaped from the water in every direction round the galley.

"Down sail!" shouted the patron, and with good way still on the boat the net was cast. Then came the hauling in, and by the dead weight there could be no doubt as to the take; indeed, as the net neared, the whole of the surface confined became solid with sardines. Half a dozen men with scoops leaped on to thwart and gunwale, and commenced ladling the fish in, while those hauling had to keep easing to give them time to work at the dense mass; and when at last the remnants were shaken out of the strands of the net, the patron said, turning to

me:

There, señor, you have brought us luck. I never saw a finer take, and, if there were millions more, we haven't room for another hundred."

And so it seemed, for we were pretty deep, and, as for the flooring, the boards were just cast loosely over the fish. Then, in the exuberance of his spirits, Clementi Orué served out a glass of aguardiente and a cigar all round. As he passed me the cup, he indicated with the hand holding the bottle the land.

"And now for Lequeitio with as many sardines on board as Pedro Artégui and José Echevarria have between them. There, abreast of us, lies Elanchove, and," turning slightly, "there is Cape Machichaco, where—”

His eyes and jaw became fixed, the fingers opened, and the bottle fell into the water. Following the direction of his gaze, I saw a steamer rounding the headland, and apparently pointing directly for us.

"Holy Mary! yonder is the government cruiser Ferrolano. Up sails, lads, and pray for the breeze to freshen, or we're likely to see Cuba or the Philippines on board a man-of-war.”

We had a good ten miles to run, with the wind, which was increasing, on our beam. The steamer, to cut us off, would have to do the whole of fourteen, though when we sighted her she was not more than seven distant. We would both be going on diagonal lines, and ours was the shorter. It may readily be imagined that the chicos needed no recommendation to bestir themselves. The sails were hoisted in a jiffey, the galley trimmed to bear the strain, the course laid, and as the boat felt the "draw" she seemed to leap forward. Pedro Artégui and José Echevarria were already under the land, so they, at any rate, were safe. For some few minutes no one spoke, the whole attention being concentrated on the Ferrolano; and it soon became evident, from the increased volume of smoke, that she had caught sight of us and was firing up. We were well ballasted with fish, and stood the

spread of canvas admirably, though the list to port, now and again, brought the gunwale level with the seething water. The wind freshened considerably, and under other circumstances it might have been a question of taking in a reef, but we held on, banking sardines and men well over to starboard. I should think we must have been going eight or nine knots, but for all that the Ferrolano rose perceptibly every few minutes, and when we were within five miles of the entrance to Lequeitio I could distinctly see the group of officers on her bridge. At four miles she was not more than fifteen hundred yards off, and she soon let us know it; for following a white puff from her bows came a shrieking howl across our stern, which made all hands duck like a lot of salaaming mandarins. The Ferrolano gunner was trying his hand, and it was pretty certain that each succeeding shot would come closer, and so it proved, for the next struck the water on our starboard quarter, completely drenching the patron and myself.

"What do you think about it, señor: we have no chance, have we?" asked Clementi Orué of me in a low voice.

With a tolerably decent attempt at a smile, considering the awkward position in which we found ourselves, I suggested that while there was life there was hope, that I did not think we should be hit, and that every minute we drew nearer home. I had scarcely given expression to these comforting observations, when a flat contradiction came to the supposition that we were not likely to be touched. Vrrrowwww-vrrriiish— boom! and a shell struck our main-mast about three feet from the peak, bursting and sending the particles humming to port. The spar was shattered completely, and the canvas came down with a crash, partially falling on to the gunwale, and partially into the water, and as the men slid over to port at the same time, I thought we should capsize. The foresheet had also been cut, and the sail was banging and flopping terribly.

"Holy Mary! it's all over with us," gasped the patron; "we'd better luff up and give in; another shot will cut us in two."

I hardly know how to explain it, but somehow or other I found myself in command. I presume it was that I had kept my head, having, during campaigning experiences of fifteen years, been considerably under fire both at sea and on land; besides, I felt convinced that the chances were not altogether hopeless.

"Now, chicos," I shouted, "down with that foresail-unstep both masts-get that wreckage and dragging canvas inboard, and out with the oars; that's it, don't be flurried, he has not half the mark to shoot at now, besides which our

jumping will puzzle him.-I beg your pardon, patron, but as you are one hand short you had better take your place on the after-thwart to make up the number. I will steer, only tell me if I can keep a straight course for mid-entrance, without fear of rocks?"

Clementi Ouré looked at me curiously and steadily for a moment, then grasping an oar and seating himself, he answered.

"Yes, direct for the entrance; it's about high water, and there isn't enough sea on to make going over the rocks very risky."

"Well, then, give way all of you, and let him shoot his best; why, he'd have to be able to hit a fly to strike us now. That's it, my lads, pull your hardest and pull together; you are bound for Lequeitio, and not for Cuba or the Philippines."

Another shell flew over us, but at a considerable height, and then one ducked and draked across the bows; and though I told the men, who could not see where the water was struck, that it was at least a quarter of a mile off, I began to have serious misgivings. The Ferrolano was overhauling us rapidly, and, in addition to her gunning, would probably soon sprinkle us with rifle-shots. I had my eyes firmly fixed on the entrance, so as not to lose an inch by yawing, if I could help it, when to my utter astonishment a long puff of white smoke leaped over the wall of the platform in front of the Hermitage, near the summit of the mainland point. Turning my head quickly in the direction of the steamer, I saw a flash right on her bows-she had been struck by a shell.

"Don't stop to look, lads, but give way; every minute is worth an hour just now. Some one is helping us, and no mistake, and, if the second shot is an improvement on the first, we shall not have much more to fear from the Ferrolano."

"The gun must have dropped from heaven," cried the patron, with an expression of blank amazement on his face, "and Santa Barbara is working it!"

Again the white cloud leaped out from the Hermitage terrace, and this time the shell burst on the steamer's bridge; and when the smoke cleared there could be seen great scattering and confusion among the figures that had hitherto formed a dark group. But that was not all. The helm had been put hard a-starboard, and the Ferrolano, under full steam, headed seaward, checked and driven off by a single gun, where

she thought to have everything her own way and meet with no resistance. Delighted beyond measure at our lucky escape, I suggested to Clementi Orué and the crew, that by way of a parting salute we should toss oars and give her a round of cheers, though the last might not probably be heard.

"And now, señor patron, as there are quite enough hands to pull, I resign to you your post-"

"No, by Our Lady! that shall not be. You have brought us through the difficulty, and you shall take us in. When we were struck, had you not acted as you did, I should have put about and surrendered. We owe our escape to you first, and then to the miraculous gun-isn't that so, chicos?”

“Sí, sí,―viva el capitan Ingles!"

As the patron and chicos insisted that I should maintain my place at the steering-oar, there was nothing for it but to obey, and splendidly they pulled in. No sooner did we round the point and come in sight of the mole, than cheer after cheer went up, for it was seen we were rowing full-handed, and that consequently no one had been killed or hurt. Each of the crew had some one near and dear to him crying and laughing with joy; and the patron's wife, a portly dame, hugged and kissed her husband as he had probably not been hugged and kissed for many a year. My welcome came from the comandante de armas, and from him I got the following explanation of the "miraculous" gun:

“Just after you had put out last night, a lieutenant of artillery, with ten men, arrived in charge of a Whitworth cannon, which had been ordered here for the protection of the port-it is to be mounted on an earthwork on the island yonder. Well, when Pedro Artégui and José Echevarna came in with the news that the Ferrolano was trying to cut off the Santisima Trinidad, I roused up the lieutenant, and, obtaining any number of volunteers from among the boatmen, the gun was dismounted, and, with the carriage, was lifted and hauled up the precipitous and narrow path to the Hermitage terrace. The first shot, as you must have noticed, was good, the second excellent, and with my glasses I saw that some of those on the bridge had been hurt by the bursting shell."

It was a very lucky accident that brought that gun to Lequeitio just in the nick of time. Without it I should probably have had but little taste for sardines after that night's adventure.

All the Year Round.

TH

THE ACADEMY EXHIBITION.

HE spring exhibition at the Academy is thought by many persons to be the best ever held there, but very likely this is due to the vividness of present impressions as compared with recollections of exhibitions gone by. There is certainly, we think, more variety, a larger range of treatment and subjects, and more freshness of thought, if not more genuine force and excellence. Our exhibitions have commonly been declared to be monotonous; this charge, at least, can not justly be made to-day, for side by side with our own methods we see paint ings inspired by all the various European schools and nearly every existing theory of art. There is excellent opportunity to compare established and hitherto generally accepted modes of treatment with bold innovations and strange methods of interpretation. It seems to us that if one will gather in his mental vision all the landscapes in the exhibition that are painted in the simple manner of the past— the charming subjects by Wyant, Minor, Casilear, Gifford, Richards, and some others-he must admit that their pure, unexaggerated, and unstrained interpretation of nature marks the true scope and purpose of landscape-painting, which is to delight by sentiment and beauty, and not to surprise by vehemence and novelty. The serene and lofty tone that pervades the poems on nature by Bryant is just as rightly fitted to landscape art as it is to verse. There is no reason why sensation and extravagance should be approved in the artist and condemned in the writer, and yet by current canons of criticism that which all instructed people are expected to condemn in the one is sought for and demanded in the other. All our young painters, and some not so young, are struggling to get away from the conventional, but, while this is highly commendable, they must not in doing so overthrow the established, nor purchase originality at the cost of taste and sanity. An artist must no less than a poet aim above all things at truth; and just as sure as men set up originality as the first requirement of either art or literature we shall have hosts of aspirants indulging in endless phases of grotesque and fantastic expression. If our painters have hitherto been monotonous and feeble, as we hear asserted on all sides, they have been so largely from a detestation of sensation, from an earnest sympathy with simplicity and modest truth. The paintings at the Academy that come

TABLE.

from the class to which we refer are penetrated with fine feeling; they are full of serene beauty; they give evidence in every detail of what Mr. Hamerton calls "affectionate fidelity."

That

Among the paintings which perplex rather than satisfy are those by Mr. George Inness. It is thought by many persons-good judges for the most part, and among them many artists—that Mr. Inness is the very best of our landscape-painters. he is an independent thinker and a student all who know him are aware; that he is audacious, original, creative, his paintings bear witness to all; but to the unlearned in the mysteries of art theories they are in some things incomprehensible. His view at North Conway, New Hampshire, is the largest canvas in the exhibition. It is a spring day, and depicts the White Mountains, snow-capped, towering in the distance, an expanse of meadow and groups of trees in the foreground, and a vast extent of orchards and hills in the middle distance flushed with the roseate tints of spring. Nearly the whole charm of the picture lies in this middle distance. The mountain range is impossibly high, and would fairly dwarf the Alps or the Rocky Mountains, and the foreground trees are uncouth and distasteful. If nature ever built up trees in these strange shapes, the artist should have excluded them, in obedience to the principle of selection which lies at the base of his art, and chosen other forms. Mr. Inness is apt to assert imperatively the place of imagination in art; it seems to us conspicuously needed in parts of this painting. In all the other landscapes by this artist there is very strange and unreal tree-architecture, and equally strange and unreal cloud-forms. In one instance he piles up as storm-clouds masses that have much more resemblance to granite cliffs and mountain peaks than to vapor. That Mr. Inness is an absolute master of his art all persons who are well informed will concede; but being smitten with a passion for originality, and possessed with a host of theories, he rushes into strange extravagances. He believes, with Turner and Corot, in imagination in art-in painting dreams rather than realities. By all means let us have the artist's dreams on canvas as we have the poet's dreams in verse; but let there be no mistake. We want dreams, and not nightmares; and Mr. Inness is eminently capable, if he will, of giving us the former.

If not so large a canvas as Mr. Inness's "North Conway," Mr. Thomas Moran's "Ponce de Leon in