MORWENSTOW 373 deemed a mark of divine favour. " It was in the month of June, 1848, that my brother-in-law, John Dinham, arrived at Morwenstow with a very fine- looking man whom he had been called in to attend professionally at Bude for an injury in the knee from a fall. ... I found my guest at his entrance a tall, swarthy, Spanish-looking man, with an eye like a sword. He sate down, and we conversed. I at once found myself with no common mind. All poetry in particular he seemed to use like household words .... Before we left the room he said, ' Do you know my name ? ' I said, ' No, I have not even a guess.' ' Do you wish to know it ? ' ' I don't much care — that which we call a rose, &c.' ' Well then,' said he, * my name is Tennyson ! ' ' What ! ' said I, ' the Tenny- son ? ' ' What do you mean by the Tennyson ? I am Alfred Tennyson who wrote Locksley Hall, which you seem to know by heart.' So we grasped hands, and the Shepherd's heart was glad .... Then, seated on the brow of the cliff, with Dundagel full in view, he revealed to me the purpose of his journey to the West. He is about to conceive a poem — the hero King Arthur — the scenery in part the vanished Land of Lyonesse, between the mainland and the Scilly Isles. . . . Then evening fell. He arose to go ; and I agreed to drive him on his way. He demanded a pipe, and produced a package of very common shag. By great good luck my sexton had about him his own short black dudheen, which accordingly the Minstrel filled and fired. Wild language occupied the way, until we shook farewell at Combe. ' This,' said Tennyson, ' has indeed been a day to be remembered.'" Hawker had a pre- sentiment that they would never meet again, and
