complete and satisfying in itself, unless we let
our thoughts be disturbed by ideas of a possible better. It is certain
that the passage up the Fal, especially in suitable weather, is of
very real charm, with its numerous tempting creeks and pools, its
ferries and riverside hamlets, its sloping meadows and spreading
woodlands. But when we speak of going up the Fal to Truro, we are
speaking incorrectly; the true Fal turns eastward after passing King
Harry's Reach and runs to Ruan Lanihorne; the water on which we pass
to the Truro quayside is the Truro River. It has been spoken of by our
late Queen, among the many visitors who have admired it. She said, "We
went up the Truro, which is beautiful, winding between banks entirely
wooded with stunted oak and full of numberless creeks. The prettiest
are King Harry's Ferry and a spot near Tregothnan, where there is a
beautiful little boathouse." Tennyson was here a little later (in
1860) after a visit to the Scillies, and he made the river trip from
Falmouth to Truro. On the boat the poet was recognised, his portraits,
and perhaps some knowledge that he was in the neighbourhood, being
responsible for the discovery. Palgrave, who was with him, writes:
"Our captain presently came forward with a tray and squat bottle, and
said, with unimpeachable good manners, that he was aware how
distinguished a passenger, &c., and that some young men sitting
opposite, and he, would be much honoured if Mr. Tennyson would take a
tumbler of stout with them." The poet gave a gracious response, and
willingly drank the health of his admirers. But "presently the captain
reappeared, and this time it was the ladies in the cabin who begged
that the Laureate would only step down among them. But the height of
that small place of refuge, Tennyson declared, would render the
proposed exhibition impossible. Might he not be kindly excused? The
good women, however, were not to be balked; and one after another
presented her half-length above the little hatchway before us, gazed,
smiled, and retreated." It was well for Tennyson that he had overcome
some of his early shyness, or the ordeal might have tried him
considerably. There was no cathedral in those days, rising with
somewhat foreign aspect from near the waterside; but its germ was
there in the old parish church of St. Mary's, which now welds the
ancient and the modern into one beautiful and fairly harmonious whole.
It is difficult to over-estimate the value of