constituency
being found to believe _that_.

But not only is the common labourer thus dense: take these two instances
of country guests at my table. One whom I had asked to meet two
Americans told me of his disappointment at not finding them--red men!
And another (this time a provincial parson) wanted me to expostulate
with my friend Hatchard (afterwards Bishop of Mauritius) because he
meditated in his philanthropy giving a drinking fountain to Guildford.
"Only think, a drinking fountain! surely you cannot approve?" The poor
man supposed it was one of those pumping apparatuses for spirits
presided over by barmaids! It is manifest that the schoolmaster was not
so much abroad a few years ago as he has been since board schools have
arisen.

Amongst other specialities of ancient Albury House, which has 1561 on a
weathercock and 1701 on a kitchen wing, is the same peculiarity which
Tennyson told me at Farringford vexes him in his own less ancient
dwelling,--and which Pindar of old declared to be the privilege of
poets. We are, and have been for generations, a very house-hive of bees:
the whole front of two gables has them under its oak floors and panelled
walls throughout,--and when guests sleep in certain rooms they have to
be forewarned that the groans at midnight are not those of perturbed
spirits, but the hum and bustle of multitudinous bees. We cannot drive
them away, nor destroy them utterly,--as often has been attempted; and
if we did, the worry would be only worsened, as in that case hornets
would come and succeed to the sweet heritage of bee-dom. When the
stuccoed front of our house was demolished, to show the oaken pattern
(but it had to be re-roughcast to keep out the weather), there were
pailsful of honey carried off by the labourers, of course not without
wounds and strife: but in ordinary times it is a strange fact that our
bees never sting their hosts; be careful only to remain quiet, and there
is no war between man and bee. Two years ago a great comb was built
outside an eaveboard, probably because there was no room for more comb
inside. It is curious that it should have survived two hard winters. Is
not all this apposite, as suited (let Pindar and Tennyson bear witness)
to a poet's home?

In this zoological connection (for bees are zoa) let me record that
there is a legend of a fox having been killed in our drawing-room (on
the ground-floor with French windows) during some tenancy in my
absence,--only f