While Lord Shaughnessy has acquired wealth, it was not for money alone he labored unceasingly, but from an earnest and honest endeavor to benefit Canada, through making his railroad a powerful factor in its development. Many instances could be given where the interests of the country overshadowed those of the company, and Lord Shaughnessy never hesitated a moment as to what course to pursue when duty called. For instance, during the continued strikes some years ago in the western coal mines, there was every prospect of a dire scarcity of coal on the prairies. Regardless of cost, he instructed that hundreds of thousands of tons of Pennsylvania anthracite should be purchased and distributed at advantageous points to furnish the settlers with fuel should the threatened shortage materialize. Fortunately, the strikes were called off just in time to avert the impending catastrophe, but to ensure the settlers an ample supply, the C.P.R. refused to buy the cheaper coal at the mines, and utilized its own more costly supply. And this cost the company a round million of dollars. But it would have saved many a settler from perishing on the prairies had not the strikes been settled. Lord Shaughnessy’s Big Heart. Maintaining the strictest discipline, usually dignified, he was one of the kindest of men, and frequently looked leniently upon the errors of omission and commission of those under him. His generosity was unbounded, and in helping many a “lame dog over the stile”—well, that was a matter solely between the benefactor and the benefited. His home life has always been an ideal one, with Lady Shaughnessy an able and kindly helpmate, and dutiful children to brighten the hearth. But, as in the case of many another household, keen, bitter sorrow has entered. I shall never forget when the news came of the tragic death of his son, Fred, who lost his life in the defence of his country in France in 1916, how rapidly the heart-broken father had aged, and how sympathetically he grasped my hand, and with tear-dimmed eyes recalled memories of the dead boy, of whom I, too, was especially fond. Poor, dear Fred, his memory will linger long with many, for he was a bright cheerful lad—we always looked upon him as a boy—with many admirable qualities. Nor shall I ever forget his coming to me when he was in the service of the C.P.R., and bemoaning his fate. “It’s awful,” he would say to me, “to be the president’s son. Of course, I don’t mind obeying the rules and regulations of the company, and I work the same hours as anybody else, but hang it all, it’s a constant complaint that I am favored because I am the president’s son, when, perhaps, I am favored less than the others. Why, father wouldn’t allow it. I am going to quit.” And he did.