had died, the superstition being that unless the hive was tapped after
dark, when all were at home, and a set form of announcement repeated,
the bees would desert their quarters. I had an alarming experience
once with bees when cycling between Ringwood and Burley in the New
Forest, my present home. As I passed a house close to the road, a
swarm crossed my path, rising from their hive just as I reached the
hedge before the garden. There was a mighty humming, and I felt the
bees, with which I was colliding, striking my hands and face with some
violence. I expected a sting each moment, but my greatest fear was
lest the queen should have settled on my coat amongst the bees it had
collected, and that presently I should have the whole swarm in
possession. It was dangerous to stop, so I raced on some distance,
dismounted, discarded my coat, shaking off my unwelcome
fellow-travellers, and I was much surprised to find that none of them
retaliated.

Bell was an excellent brewer, and with good malt and some of our own
hops could produce a nice light bitter beer at a very moderate cost.
In years when cider was scarce we supplemented the men's short
allowance with beer, 4 bushels of malt to 100 gallons; and for years
he brewed a superior drink for the household, which, consumed in much
smaller quantities and requiring to be kept longer, was double the
strength. His methods were not scientific, and he scorned the use of a
"theometer," his rule being that the hot water was cool enough for the
addition of the malt when the steam was sufficiently gone off to allow
him "to see his face" on the surface.

Owing to his having lived so long in such a quiet place, and the
limited outlook which his surroundings had so far afforded, Bell was
somewhat wanting in the sense of proportion, and when I had a field of