e did not
wish to keep the talk in his own hands, and had an eager and delighted
recognition of his companion's thoughts and ideas.

His sense of humour was unfailing, and when he laughed, he laughed with
the whole of himself, loudly and contagiously, abandoning himself with
tears in his eyes to helpless paroxysms of mirth. There was never the
smallest touch of affectation or priggishness about his attitude, and he
had none of the cautious and uneasy reverence which is apt to overshadow
men of piety. He was intensely amused by the humorous side of the people
and the institutions which he loved. Here are two slight illustrations
which come back to my mind. He told me these two stories in one day at
Tremans. One was that of a well-known Anglican Bishop who attended a
gathering of clergy, and in his valedictory speech said that they would
expect him to make some allusion to the fact that one who had attended
their last meeting was no longer of the Anglican communion, having
joined the Church of Rome. They would all, he said, regret the step
which he had thought fit to take; but they must not forget the serious
fall their poor friend had had from his bicycle not long before, which
had undoubtedly affected gravely his mental powers. Then he told me of
an unsatisfactory novice in a religious house who had been expelled from
the community for serious faults. His own account of it was that the
reason why he was expelled was that he used to fall asleep at
meditation, and snore so loud that he awoke the elder brethren.

Though Hugh held things sacred, he did not hold them inconveniently
sacred, and it did not affect their sacredness if they had also a
humorous side to them. He had no temptation to be easily shocked, and
though he hated all impure suggestiveness, he could be amused by what
may be called broad humour. I always felt him to be totally free from
prudishness, and it seemed to me that he drew the line in exactly the
right place between things that might be funny and unrefined, and things
which were merely coarse and gross. The fact was that he had a perfectly
simple manliness about him, and an infallible tact, which was wholly
unaffected, as to the limits of decorum. The result was that one could
talk to him with the utmost plainness and directness. His was not a
cloistered and secluded temperament. He knew the world, and had no fear
of it or shrinking from it.

He dearly loved an argument, and could be both provoking