86 SPORTING PARSONS OF THE OLD SCHOOL : 



beagles. In connection with this a story with a good old- 

 fashioned flavour was told me many years ago by a very old 

 gentleman who, as a young man, was staying in the house 

 when it happened. There had been a merry hunt, and several 

 of the field came back to dinner at 2 or 3 o'clock. The port 

 w^ine was good and plentiful — everyone, no doubt, had enough. 

 Then came the carefully prepared and daintily served tea, the 

 punctilious ritual of which survived into my younger days, 

 when dinner had receded to a later hour. Afterwards round 

 came the horses ; next the hat-hunting and chaff and cheery 

 good-nights — ' See you at Gumley to-morrow,' &c. Out in 

 the quiet, dark, frosty night, each mounted in turn at the hall 

 door and jogged homeward, with full trust in the homing 

 instinct of his mount, and so probably to sleep. And w^hat 

 an awakening ! Each had mounted someone else's horse, and 

 so arrived about midnight at someone else's house. 



Imagination loves to linger on the scene — grooms decline to 

 have their 'osses messed about all night, riders decline a -walk 

 of some miles, and the ladies have to appear, mindful, no 

 doubt, of the Frenchman's genial philosophy, ' If we have not 

 those we love, let us love those we have.' Forbid it. If the 

 one they would have is absent, at least they can give their 

 views to the one who is present. 



Then the emotionalism in the pulpit was merely the result 

 of a nervous affection, and had no more to do with sentiment 

 than a sneeze has. In social life this affection was often to be 

 observed, as in certain other members of the family ; so the 

 story of the sermon annotated ' cry here ' is, as the children say, 

 only a story. I have good reason for saying this, for just about 

 the time I was ordained, mindful, perhaps, of his own early 

 struggles and wishing to lighten mine, he one morning in his 

 study gave me a great pile of sermons, adding ' I know them 

 all by heart.' Though I was not able to repeat his boast, I 

 saw enough of them to detect no trace of the studied tears. 

 No doubt Mr. Fellowes and he were joking about the cauli- 

 flower — the roses and lilies of the valley at Laughton are what 

 my memory chiefly recalls. 



One story he told me always had a special interest for me. 

 Knowing the country so well, he was often asked to look after 

 distinguished strangers and show^ them about. Probably, on 

 such an occasion, Louis Napoleon, when living in England, of 

 course before he became Emperor, jumped right on the top of 



