144 STAG-HUNTING RECOLLECTIONS 



meadowland must be wound up to the highest pitch of 

 production by heavy manuring from the London mews 

 and dust-bins. These speciaHte conditions of agriculture 

 did not agree very well with the Queen's Hounds and their 

 following, and I am free to say that very rich permanent 

 meadowland does suffer from a huge field of horsemen 

 in wet seasons. But it must be borne in mind that the 

 Queen's Hounds never, even in the palmiest days, hunted 

 the Harrow country — except for an odd day by arrangement 

 — after Christmas, and with a travelling deer probably did 

 less harm than a pack of foxhounds, or even harriers on a 

 twisty fox or catchy scent. 



All about Harrow the grass has always been a sensi- 

 tive plant. One of the favourite amusements in the 

 Easter term when I first went to Harrow was going out 

 jumping on a half -holiday. It was never a general practice, 

 but a certain set were much addicted to it. A great friend 

 of mine at Harrow, ' Budge ' Arnold — a son of Mr. Matthew 

 Arnold's — was a great organiser of these parties of six to eight 

 boys. You jumped, as you hunt in France, by invitation. 

 The success of the party depended to some extent upon a 

 sort of jumping jester, who was expected to do something 

 amusing, or which we thought amusing. As far as I 

 recollect, this usually took the form of jumping into a muddy 

 pond. It sounds a simple and not very exhilarating 

 pleasantry, but, like many other things, all depended on how 

 it was done. I have seen it quite fail in its object, and in 

 that case the drenched and shivering jester was called an 

 ass. The crack jester in my time was Elliot Neeld, in 

 Butler's house. He always came off. 



The jumping parties were capital exercise, and gave us 

 a famous appetite for muffins and hare soup of a most noble 

 liver-chestnut colour at Winkley's. I have never met with 

 hare soup of that exact colour or consistency since. As 



