some favourite author, or news from the journals of the day. The reading was relieved by interludes of pleasant talk in which every one took his share. For Hastings was ever a kindly and courteous host, who pleased himself in trying to please his company. He had some turn for epigram and repartee, with a lively relish for sallies of undefiled wit and decorous pleasantry. 'He laughed heartily,' says Gleig; 'could trifle with the gayest, and thought it not beneath him to relish a pun.'
With young people he was always a favourite, from his gentle manners and the fatherly interest he showed in their well-being. His capacity for making friends was equalled by his constancy in retaining them. 'All who knew him loved him, and they who knew him most loved him best,' was written of him after his death by one who had known him long and intimately[1]. The same witness speaks of him as the kindest of masters, a benefactor generous even beyond his means, 'in his social hours the most pleasing companion,' a man whose nature was full of the milk of human kindness. Much as he enjoyed his visits in town and country, Hastings was never happier or seen to more advantage than at home. 'It was among his own guests,' wrote an intimate friend, 'at his own table, in his own study, and in the bosom of his own family, that he appeared ever most like himself, and therefore to the greatest advantage[2].'
