BULLER.
I never heard such a noise.
NORTH.
A cigar in your mouth at four o'clock in the morning! Well—well.
BULLER.
There, my dear sir, keep me in countenance with a Manilla.
NORTH.
The Herb! You have high authority—Spenser's—for "noise."
BULLER.
I said Noise—because it is Noise. Why, the hum of bees overhead is absolutely like soft sustained thunder—and yet no bees visible in the umbrage. The sound is like that of one single bee, and he must be a giant. Ay—there I see a few working like mad—and I guess there must be myriads. The Grove must be full of bees' nests.