In later years he built for himself a châlet set amid the pine-trees of the ancient French forest of Hardelot, within sight and sound and scent of the sea. Like Dalchenna this began in a small way. Enamoured with the peace and rest that brooded over the place, he went on year by year enlarging and embellishing it.
According to long-laid plans he was to have spent the Easter recess in his French retreat. Almost at the last moment duty called him elsewhere, and, as was his wont, he uncomplainingly obeyed. But he insisted that two old friends, whom he had bidden to keep Easter tryst with him, should not alter their plans. So the châlet, with its dainty appointments and its domestic establishment after the Duke's own heart--a French peasant and his wife, who acted as butler and cook--was placed at their disposal, he bestowing infinite pains upon arrangements for their comfort whilst under his roof.
[Illustration: "It was hardly a tactful way of trying to convert him to the movement to place a bomb under his throne at St. Paul's."--_The Bishop of London in the Debate on Lord Selborne's Bill for Female Enfranchisement._]
This little episode, the most recent in a busy life, is a typical instance of his unselfishness and untiring thought for others.
A scholar of wide reading, a man of shrewd judgment, and, as his government of Canada disclosed, a statesman of high degree, he might have filled a part in public affairs at least as lofty as that commanded by his distinguished father. Debarred from such career he was content to live up to the highest standard of Christian conduct. If a line of commentary might be added to the inscription on the coffin which to-morrow journeys northward to lie beside those of the ten Dukes of Argyll at rest in the burial-place of the Campbells at Kilmun, here it is written in one of the oldest of Books: "He went about doing good."
_Business done._--Commons resume debate on Budget.
Dear, I do not send you flowers, Though I notice day by day That, 'neath Spring's recurring powers, All the shops are perfect bowers With the floral wealth of May; I could get you quite a heap, Fresh and reasonably cheap.
Here is many a fragrant rose Mingling with the scented pea, Hyacinths whose odour flows Fondly to the grateful nose, These, and many more, there be; You should have them like a shot, But I think you'd bettor not.