abitants to severe reprisals; the
gulls are an institution of the place, to be grumbled at sometimes but
always to be tolerated. And all the grumbling is not on one side, as
one may judge from the noise the birds sometimes make. At times the
sharp cawing of black crows mingles with the croaking, and of course
other birds have their say as well, in the bright mornings and dreamy
eves. Out beyond the mouth of the harbour there are curlews and
puffins on the lonely sea-washed crags; and in quiet weather there
are more of the gulls seaward than up among the gardens. But they may
certainly be regarded as the presiding genius of Fowey.

[Illustration: FOWEY.

_Photo by Gibson, Penzance._]

The village of Fowey--it calls itself a town--runs along in a single
street on the westward bank of the river. At first sight this street
is almost unattractive; it is narrow, with some awkward bends, and it
gives no view of the water except an occasional peep through a low
doorway. It runs to a considerable distance, and tries to increase its
importance by changing its name at intervals; a few small alleys and
by-roads strike off from it. One of its turnings is a sharp drop as
well as a curve, perilous to all but the initiated. In some parts when
a vehicle passes it is necessary to press very close indeed to the
wall or in the kindly shelter of a doorway; the ample omnibus of the
chief hotel spares little space for pedestrians. It may be with
something of a malicious chuckle that one notices that this
four-wheeled tyrant is often empty; but the malice is of evanescent
nature, born of narrow escape. There are some shops, respectable if
not imposing, and a goodly supply of inns; a fine church and a notable
old Cornish manor-house. But all the time one has a sense that the
real life of the place is the river behind these houses; even the
leisurely little railway station does not seem of much consequence,
though it acts as a feeder of the boats that busily ply here. Quite
obviously this is no resort of mere pleasure, and it is all the more
pleasurable for that; it has set itself to live sturdily, not
troubling to attract the idler and the luxurious. Fowey is not
altogether content to repose on its memories, though these are great.
Generations of those who laboured on deep waters have nestled in these
riverside homesteads, these nooks and corners and precipitous byways;
they were lusty fighters and dauntless smugglers; they rose for their
o