I was enabled to gratify Bishop Sumner in a way that touched his heart, as thus.  A cousin of mine, De Lara Tupper of Rio Janeiro, a rich merchant prince there, sent me, as a present for my Albury greenhouse, two large bales of orchids, which, however, were practically useless to me, as I had not that expensive luxury, a regular orchid-house.  But I knew that the dear Bishop had, and that orchid-growing was his special hobby:  accordingly all were transferred to Farnham, and I need not say how gratefully accepted, as many roots proved to be most rare, and some specimens quite unique.  The good man gave me, en revanche, a splendid Horace, in white vellum beautifully illustrated, and inscribed by him “Gratiarum actio,” now near me in a bookcase.  The same South American cousin sent me also a box of pines, oranges, and shaddocks just when Garibaldi was our visitor at Princes Gate,—­and I had the gratification of giving many to him, not only because he mainly lived upon fruit, but also because some of the said fruit came from the farm he and his first wife, the well-beloved Anita, had once owned in South America.  Later on, Gladstone invited me to meet the hero at a reception in Carlton Gardens, where I took note of Garibaldi, with his hostess on his arm, as he walked in his simple red shirt, through a bowing lane of feathered fashionables, whom he greeted right and left as if he had been always used to such London high life.  On that occasion I had the honour of standing between Palmerston and Lord John Russell, who kindly conversed with me, as also did the chief guest, specially thanking me for those pines and oranges.

Parham.

Another notable visit of some days, was one to Parham, the ancient—­and haunted—­seat of my old friend both at Charterhouse and at Christ Church, Robert Curzon, afterwards Lord de la Zouche, the great collector of Armenian and other missals and manuscripts.  With him (alas! no more amongst us, and his son has dropped the “de la”) I spent a joyful and instructive time:  out of doors we fished in the lake and rode about the park among the antlered deer,—­three heads and horns whereof are now in our glass-porch entrance at Albury; indoors, there was the splendid gallery of family armour from feudal days,—­several suits of which Curzon told me he had tried to wear on some occasion, but couldn’t; most were too small for him, though by no means a tall man; and those which he could struggle into were too heavy.  Then there was the interminable companion gallery of full-length portraits, some of whom, probably the wicked ancestors, walked! and I’m sure that when I slept in a tapestried chamber under that gallery, I did hear footsteps—­could it be, horrible fancy! in procession?  When I told Curzon this, he answered that he had often heard them himself, from boyhood, but that familiarity bred contempt:  he said also, with a twinkle in his eye, that there was a room which was usually set apart for