with amusement twinkling behind it--not invisible--and ready to burst
forth into a bright low laugh when gravity had been played out, was a
very frequent posture with him.

But he was thoroughly ready to amuse and instruct, or to be amused and
instructed, as an eager and earnest speaker or listener on most matters
of interest. I do not remember that he had any great turn for beauty of
colour; he had none, I think, or next to none, for music--nor do I
remember in him any great love of humour--but for beauty of physical
form, for mechanics, for mathematics, for poetry which had a root in
true feeling, for wit (including that perception of a quasi-logical
absurdity of position), for history, for domestic incidents, his
sympathy was always lively, and he would throw himself naturally and
warmly into them. From his general demeanour (I need scarcely say) the
"odour of sanctity" was wholly absent. I am not sure that his height and
depth of aim and lively versatility of talent did not leave his
_compassionate_ sympathies rather undeveloped; certainly to himself,
and, I suspect, largely in the case of others, he would view suffering
not as a thing to be cockered up or made much of, though of course to be
alleviated if possible, but to be viewed calmly as a Providential
discipline for those who can mitigate, or have to endure it.

J.H.N. was once reading me a letter just received from him in which (in
answer to J.H.N.'s account of his work and the possibility of his
breaking down) he said in substance: "I daresay you have more to do than
your health will bear, but I would not have you give up anything except
perhaps the deanery" (of Oriel). And then J.H.N. paused, with a kind of
inner exultant chuckle, and said, "Ah! there's a Basil for you"; as if
the friendship which sacrificed its friend, as it would sacrifice itself
to a cause, was the friendship which was really worth having.