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CHAPTER XVII BUDE WE read in the memoir of Tennyson that in the year 1848 he felt a craving to make a lonely sojourn at Bude. " I hear," he said, " that there are larger waves there than on any other part of the British coast, and must go thither and be alone with God." So he came, with the subject of his Idylls simmering in his mind. He found the great rollers, the grand, open coast, the solitude; these are still there, to be found of all that seek. There may be some lessening of the solitude, but only in parts ; Bude has not yet become widely popular ; it is the haunt of those who love bracing air and quiet. It grows, but gro^vs slowly ; old friends may return to it with- out being tortured by too glaring a change. The coast must indeed be destitute of harbours that can call Bude a haven ; yet the name Bude Haven stands, as if in deadly irony. This whole north coast of Cornwall and Devon has little enough of refuge for seamen in distress ; and if they endeavour to make Bude when seas are run- ning high they are simply courting disaster ; it were better to stay far out, if the cruel Atlantic will let them. Yet a rumour of history says that Agricola landed here. It is not impossible, 354