the 'Clutha'. At the time he was Deputy Minister in London of the
Overseas Military Forces of Canada. He had been sent for but arrived too
late;--all was so sudden.

The funeral was held on Tuesday afternoon, January 29th, at the cemetery
in Wimereux. The burial was made with full military pomp. From the
Canadian Corps came Lieut.-General Sir Arthur Currie, the
General Officer Commanding; Major-General E. W. B. Morrison, and
Brigadier-General W. O. H. Dodds, of the Artillery. Sir A. T. Sloggett,
the Director-General of Medical Services, and his Staff were waiting at
the grave. All Commanding Officers at the Base, and all Deputy Directors
were there. There was also a deputation from the Harvard Unit headed by
Harvey Cushing.

Bonfire went first, led by two grooms, and decked in the regulation
white ribbon, not the least pathetic figure in the sad procession.
A hundred nursing Sisters in caps and veils stood in line, and then
proceeded in ambulances to the cemetery, where they lined up again.
Seventy-five of the personnel from the Hospital acted as escort, and six
Sergeants bore the coffin from the gates to the grave. The firing party
was in its place. Then followed the chief mourners, Colonel Elder and
Sir Bertrand Dawson; and in their due order, the rank and file of No.
3 with their officers; the rank and file of No. 14 with their officers;
all officers from the Base, with Major-General Wilberforce and the
Deputy Directors to complete.

It was a springtime day, and those who have passed all those winters in
France and in Flanders will know how lovely the springtime may be. So
we may leave him, "on this sunny slope, facing the sunset and the
sea." These are the words used by one of the nurses in a letter to a
friend,--those women from whom no heart is hid. She also adds: "The
nurses lamented that he became unconscious so quickly they could not
tell him how much they cared. To the funeral all came as we did, 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