because we loved him so."

At first there was the hush of grief and the silence of sudden shock.
Then there was an outbreak of eulogy, of appraisement, and sorrow.
No attempt shall be made to reproduce it here; but one or two voices
may be recorded in so far as in disjointed words they speak for all.
Stephen Leacock, for those who write, tells of his high vitality
and splendid vigour -- his career of honour and marked distinction --
his life filled with honourable endeavour and instinct with
the sense of duty -- a sane and equable temperament -- whatever he did,
filled with sure purpose and swift conviction.

Dr. A. D. Blackader, acting Dean of the Medical Faculty of McGill University,
himself speaking from out of the shadow, thus appraises his worth:
"As a teacher, trusted and beloved; as a colleague, sincere and cordial;
as a physician, faithful, cheerful, kind. An unkind word he never uttered."
Oskar Klotz, himself a student, testifies that the relationship
was essentially one of master and pupil. From the head of
his first department at McGill, Professor, now Colonel, Adami,
comes the weighty phrase, that he was sound in diagnosis;
as a teacher inspiring; that few could rise to his high level of service.

There is yet a deeper aspect of this character with which we are concerned;
but I shrink from making the exposition, fearing lest
with my heavy literary tread I might destroy more than I should discover.
When one stands by the holy place wherein dwells a dead friend's soul --
the word would slip out at last -- it becomes him to take off the shoes
from off his feet. But fortunately the dilemma does not arise.
The task has already been performed by one who by God has been endowed
with the religious sense, and by nature enriched with the gift of expression;