Some account of John Duke of Argyll and his family

( H )
life a faithful, doating, adoring lover. My mother told
me she had often seen him stop on entering the room,
stand a moment or two gazing at the Duchess as at the
loveliest object on earth, then come forward and clasp
her fondly to his bosom. Upon which she never failed
to look round and cry, " Do you see, you young folks ?
On such a day we shall have been married so many
years : will your husbands' love last as long, think ye ? "
Human affections are so wayward, that his love perhaps
lasted the longer for the comfortable indifference with
which it was repaid — an indifference, however, which
she could not help. She loved him as much as she had
the faculty of loving anything, and Dido or Eloisa could
have done no more. His infatuation did literally equal
what philtres and sorcery were believed to produce of
old ; since, over and above the charm of transcendant
virtue, she certainly had that of beauty in his eyes,
although in no other person's. My mother one day
downright affronted him by happening to observe that
a picture of her just brought home, was very like.
" Like ? " repeated he, hastily, " no, not like at all : how
can anybody think it so ? It does not do her justice in
any respect. But step this way, my clear, and I will show
you another sort of likeness " — taking out of his pocket
a beautiful miniature without the least resemblance (that
she could discern) to her Grace. Much embarrassed,
she began to praise the painting. " Yes " — said he, as
to himself, not minding her — " this is my Jane."
This uncommon passion stood the test of what in
many cases has poisoned matrimonial comfort — of a dis-