While at Government House upon one occasion it was my privilege to be standing in a quiet corner near a desk, which evidently was the working desk of His Royal Highness, and my eye was attracted by a portrait occupying the post of honor upon it. It was the portrait of the Widow of Windsor, our old Queen—“The Queen”—and inscribed on it the motherly words “To Dear Arthur with fond love.” No doubt it was often an inspiration to our royal Governor General, and its position was a touching proof to me of the pure, dutiful human character of the Duke. When in Ottawa or visiting other cities or towns, the Duke, frequently accompanied by the Princess Pat, had the happy knack of saluting those he met in the early morning strolls, and entering into conversation with them—generally about the town or city or village and its affairs and prospects. He always evinced deep interest in the average citizen who on many occasions was not conscious of the identity of his illustrious companion. The Duke of Devonshire. Among all of our Governors General there have been none more distinguished by a kindly and unassuming disposition than the present hospitable occupant of Rideau Hall, and one after being presented to His Excellency soon overcomes any sense of personal insignificance he might have anticipated in the presence of the head of one of England’s most historical families, who is also one of England’s wealthiest men of position to-day, being the owner of 186,000 acres of the most valuable mineral areas in Lancashire and Derbyshire, and of no less than six splendid ancestral estates. There is something about His Excellency’s genial kindly face which at once makes those privileged to meet him perfectly at ease, while those who know him well describe him as a man of a peculiarly unselfish and generous nature. As might be expected of the head of the historical Cavendish family, he is especially proud of his English ancestry, and of the part Englishmen have played in the history of the Empire; but he is no jingo, and is not given to idle boasting. My experience has been that the well-bred Englishman is about the least boastful man in the world, his antipathy to anything resembling “swank” often making him painfully unassertive.