During his few intervals of leisure, in a little knot of relations and friends, he delighted in quiet conversation, through which occasionally ran an undercurrent of pleasantry, not unmixed with caustic wit.  At his table he was the least heard among the company, and so far from being the hero of his own tale, I never heard him voluntarily refer to any of the great actions of his life.

I have known him lauded by the great and wise; but he seemed to me to waive the homage with as little attention as was consistent with civility.  Nevertheless, a mind like his was necessarily won by attention from those who could best estimate his value.

On his return from his last interview with Mr. Pitt, being asked in what manner he had been received, he replied that he had reason to be gratified with his reception, and concluded with animation, “Mr. Pitt, when I rose to go, left the room with me, and attended me to the carriage”—­a spontaneous mark of respect and admiration from the great statesman, of which, indeed, he might well be proud.

It would have formed an amusement to the circle at Merton, if intemperance were set down to the master of the house, who always so prematurely cut short the sederunt of the gentlemen after dinner.

A man of more temperate habits could not, I am persuaded, have been found.  It appears that the person of Lord Nelson (although he was not as described, a little man, but of the middle height and of a frame adapted to activity and exertion) did not find favour with the lady; and I presume not to dispute her taste, but in his plain suit of black, in which he alone recurs to my memory, he always looked what he was—­a gentleman.  Whatever expletives of an objectionable kind may be ascribed to him, I feel persuaded that such rarely entered into his conversation.  He was, it is true, a sailor, and one of a warm and generous disposition; yet I can safely affirm that I never heard a coarse expression issue from his lips, nor do I recollect one word or action of his to which even a disciple of Chesterfield could reasonably object.  If such did arise, it would be drawn forth when a friend was attacked, or even an enemy unjustly accused; for his disposition was so truly noble, that it revolted against all wrong and oppression.  His heart, indeed, was as tender as it was courageous.  Nor do I think, Sir, that it is a necessary concession to truth that you or others should lower your conception of this popular personage, on account of the exaggerated colours in which he is here drawn.  Those who best knew the man the most estimated his value, and many who like myself could not appreciate his professional superiority, would yet bear witness to his gentleness, kindness, good-breeding, and courtesy.

He was not “a rude and boisterous captain of the sea.”  From his early years, by the introduction of his uncle, the Comptroller