truding those subjects
on occasions when they would be neither known nor appreciated. Equally
good was his knowledge of English literature; so that in the company of
kindred spirits, the flow of wit and learning, imagination and
experience, must have rivalled that of the Literary Club over which Dr.
Johnson held sway.

Unfortunately, only the merest scraps survive; but the testimony of
Pitt's friends suffices to refute the Whig legend as to his cold and
calculating selfishness, which filled even the hours of leisure with
schemes for making himself necessary to the King and country.[614] On
the contrary, he was fond of society, throwing himself so heartily into
the conversation that the _savant_ was merged in the wit, the Prime
Minister in the genial companion. His jests were of that Attic flavour
which seasons without stinging; and this was the outcome, not of
calculation, but of a kindly disposition, which delighted to throw off
political cares amidst the tide of mirth which he helped to carry to the
full. He also felt increasingly the charms of country life, and at
Holwood was never more happy than when labouring along with his
gardeners in the effort to enhance the beauty of his grounds. This
strenuous work, together with horse exercise and occasional bursts with
the West Kent or Dover hunt, provided the recreation which enabled his
naturally weak and gout-ridden frame to withstand the wear and tear of
official life up to his forty-seventh year.

In town he delighted to visit friends in an informal manner, and was
never more pleased than when he could have games with children. His romp
with young Napier and the two Stanhopes when they succeeded in corking
his face, has been already described; but it appears that even in 1805,
when beset by manifold cares, he often dropped in at Broom House,
Parson's Green, the residence of Sir Evan Nepean, and would "take a
chair in a corner, and, laying aside state and gravity, would gambol and
play with the boys."[615] At times his repartees were piquant. When his
friend and admirer, the Duchess of Gordon, who had not seen him for some
time, met him at the _levee_ and asked whether he talked as much
nonsense as of yore, he laughingly replied: "I do not know whether I
talk so much nonsense: certainly I do not _hear_ so much."[616]

Is it surprising that a character so benevolent, and social gifts of so
much charm, should attract men about him? Of those who came forward to
fill th