A few days ago Dr. George Macdonald, the most *spirituel* and poetic novelist of the day, left these shores to return to his native country—the land of mountain and of flood. His presence in our midst, short though it was, served to confirm the singularly favorable impression which the American public, in common with English speaking people all over the globe, had formed of Mr. Macdonald from his works. Unfortunately, his health is far from good, and he was not able to give us so much of his company as we, or, we feel assured, he himself could wish. But with what we got of him we were profoundly pleased; his homely, stirring, beautifully simple words on Burns and Milton, Wordsworth and Shakespeare, have left an echo in the hearts of every one who heard them, which will never quite die out. More than any living man we know of, Dr. Macdonald has the rare power of inspiring his readers and hearers with a personal affection and love for himself. They feel that in him they have a true man, with the brain of a poet and the heart of a child; a man who could never be other than simple, and honest, and lovable; with a peculiarly refined and healthy nature, full of sweetness and warmth and light. After hearing a man like this lecture, our first and almost irresistible impulse is to go right up to the platform and shake his hand. We feel as we would to an old friend; as indeed he is to every one who has made the acquaintance of Aleck Forbes of Howglen or David Elginbrod with his grand Doric prayers. It is gratifying to know that, in spite of bad health and the trying character of the weather in winter and spring, Dr. Macdonald was pleased with his reception here. We trust that he may be induced to repeat his visit at an early day, and meanwhile we only give expression to the sentiments of the American people, in wishing Dr. Macdonald a hearty Godspeed, trusting that Argyllshire breezes may bring to him a speedy and complete recovery to health.

Commercial Advertiser

Buffalo, Wednesday Evening, Dec. 18, 1872.

ROBERT BURNS.

Lecture by George Macdonald last
Evening.

St. James Hall was crowded last evening, to hear the great author, GEORGE MACDONALD, deliver the fourth lecture of the Y. M. A. course, on "ROBERT BURNS." The distinguished lecturer is not what might be called eloquent, but spoke with a frank and hearty earnestness, that completely enchained the audience. He spoke entirely without notes, and in opening said that he did not need to introduce ROBERT BURNS, and had but to speak of him to those who know him well. Still, it was good that we should compare thoughts on any subject. It was strange, that here, across the Atlantic, people should care to hear one Scotchman talk about another, but we all claim our great brothers. When we know what a man means, we claim a relationship to that man. It was not necessary that we should do similar things to know a man. We recognize in a great man something in common with the best of ourselves. In every age, and in every year of the world's history, some man is wanted to do a special work, and we want men for special work at special times. In human affairs things are always going wrong, and are always being set right. When BURNS came, literature needed setting right, for it had attained a stage of respectable dulness. Then a man was wanted to set things right. And a man of this kind always comes when not expected. How was BURNS prepared for his work? A man like him, to set Poetry, the highest form of Literature, right, must come from the roots of things; amongst the necessities, strifes, and beginning of things. Poetry has to do with the feelings that are common to all humanity, and it must have them pure and clear to have them right. The poet had better be at the roots than up among the branches. Who would not thank God that the Saviour was born in a stable? To lowly places we must always look for the Saviours of men.

BURNS was born in a small two-room cottage that was blown down a soon after his birth. A lit place to raise a poet in! When God would make his great poet He gives him fire and water and sends him through them both, for a poet must understand humanity. All this BURNS had, and at sixteen he was a good plowman. What made him a poet? Not these things in themselves. He must have the ministrations of Nature. Not a flower could look him in the face but he looked it in the heart. All Nature ministered to him and everything in life played upon his soul as upon a harp. But this did not make him a poet. He had noble people about him. It was a great thing to come of honest God-bearing people. Among the peasantry are to be found the noblest natures. But all this would not make him a poet. The germ of it all was a great human heart. The poet is more of a man than his fellows and we have a latent sympathy for all such. BURNS had a heart that could see all sides of things. You cannot have poetry without good common sense.

What kind of things did this man do and what new message came to us through him? One of the first and most important things he did was to teach us that we did not need to look forward or backward for the true poetic life. The man that cannot find the grandeur of life where he is, will never find it where he is not! The little brock by his cottage was enough to set him singing. The girls he knew were the ones he sang about, not Helen of Troy, or any of these. Then he taught the dignity of man. He taught men that it was not what they knew but what they are, that makes the difference. If he is simple in heart, noble and honest and upright, he is the man. That he taught us to look to. The speaker here quoted from BURNS in proof of his argument.

He also created a sympathy for all humanity. He introduces us into the simplicities of the commonest peasant life. The speaker then read the greater part of "Tam O'Shanter," in the true Scottish style. The things that made him loved all over Scotland were the songs that he wrote. A good national song does more to bind a nation together than aught else except a good honest war. A poet was the interpreter of man to man, and of heart to heart. He did much to bind Old Scotland together. MR. MACDONALD then read "Scots wha hae w'l Wallace Bled." This little song went a great way. He wrote many a song upon the simple interests of human life. Then came recitations of some of the love songs of BURNS. In them was a great depth of philosophy.

The speaker then referred to the man himself and the story of his life. No man should withhold the truth in a case like this. There was no truth in the charge that he opposed religion. He tried to become a good man, and if satire ever does good, surely it was in "Holy Willie's Prayer" and the "Holy Fair." He was often to blame in drinking. In the latter part of his life he was an excise officer, and when he died his books were found correct. That was not like a drunkard. He left no debts unpaid, and that was not like a drunkard. To get drunk once was too often, but circumstances must be considered. It was a common thing to get drunk in his day. There was great ground for sorrow that he should have sinned against his own dignity. It was said to think he should have failed in this. Let no man dare to excuse him because he was a poet. It is a lie before God to say this sin may be committed with impunity. Our magnificent MILTON was a pure man, or we should not have had his work. And we might have had great or things from BURNS if he had been so.

We are to thank God he did his work as well as he did, and love him still. He was not like your common sinner, for he became ashamed of himself. The best in a man is the man, the worst is what destroys him. God saw in the heart of BURNS that the war between good and evil was fierce, and he took him away.

The lecture was listened to with close attention throughout and applause was frequent. The next lecture in the course will be delivered on the evening of January 7th, by JOHN HAY.

Auburn Morning News.

Official Paper of the County.

FRIDAY, DEC. 20, 1872.

Mr. MacDonald's Lecture.

We went to the Opera House last evening less, we confess, to hear a critical review of the "Lyrics of Tennyson," than from a desire to see the gifted author whose rare genius has given us "Robert Falconer," "The Seaboard Parish," "Wilfred Cumbermede," and near a dozen other works commonly called novels, but really storehouses filled to overflowing with the richest gems of thought, expressed in language of the rarest beauty and power. Every admirer of MacDonald's writings will agree with us that they do not read them or admire them for their plot—for one does not think of that—but for the rich thought which flashes from every line.

Mr. MacDonald is one of the very few prose poets. He has written some verses; but his best poetry is contained in his prose works, which are in fact full of real, genuine poetry. He is, more than most men, able and worthy to interpret rightly the great living English poet, Tenneyson; and the manner in which he did so last evening was fully equal to what we had expected from our knowledge and estimate of the man and his writings.

Mr. McDonald had just risen from a sick (and it was feared dying) bed, and physically was poorly able to speak; but after a few moments his voice became strong and clear, and continued so to the close. He is an agreeable, effective speaker, with just enough English quaintness in his manner to be pleasing. Without possessing especial clocutionary powers, he, nevertheless, excels as a reader, and merely because he reads to interpret the thought embodied in the words he reads. But it is in what he says, chiefly, that his excellence as a lecturer, as well as a writer, consists.

His lecture was full of ideas. When the hearer least expected it he would throw out a golden thought of rare beauty and force, clothed in the rich, quaint language so peculiarly his own. To the superficial thinker the lecture may have appeared dry and uninteresting; but to those who adopted the lecturer's suggestion, and said, "Carry me with you," it was a rich treat.

In discussing his subject Mr. MacDonald did not, as is usual in treating kindred topics, desect and analyze the poet, nor compare him with all the other poets that ever lived, but in his own way he described what a true poet should be, and then, by illustrations from his works, showed that Tenneyson is such a poet.

As to what a poet should be, the lecturer said he should be more of a man than other men, and thus be able to touch the poetry that is within us, which is, after all, the real work of the poet. The poet is only our big brother. He is a poet because he sees better than other men; he has "the deeper sight." He sees in the outer world of nature the pictures of the world within us. All nature pictures the moods and conditions of the human mind, and the poet interprets them. He also sees that in nature one thing may mean many things. The poet often expresses in words a hidden thought which the heart can interpret if the brain is insufficient.

The poet must also be familiar with human nature; must be capable of much sympathy. A man with a small brain and large heart will in time come to know more than one with a large brain and small heart. The poet's soul goes out of doors and knocks at other souls and is welcomed. He is able to triumphantly understand people not like himself. This thought was illustrated by the "Northern Farmer."

The poet must be able not only to see these things, but also to say them and make other people see them; he must compel you to be one with him and feel what he feels.

The first thing we require in the verses of the poet is music, music which takes the ear, and through it calms the heart, and thus prepare the way for the seeds of truth contained in the poetry to take root and grow. The true poet uses the words that lie nearest the facts—that call up instantly the feeling to be expressed.

Lastly and chiefly, said the lecturer, true poetry must contain great truths—truths that belong to matters of duty and faith. These he thought Tennyson's "In Memoriam" possessed in a remarkable degree. He calls it "the poem of the age, the cry of the heart of bereaved humanity lifted to the heart of God himself." The lecturer here gave some of his peculiar views in regard

to faith, which crop out more or less in all his writings, closing with an extract from "In Memoriam."

Those who heard the lecture will, from what they learned, be better able to interpret Tennyson not only, but all poetry.

BUFFALO COURIER

Wednesday Morning, Dec. 18, 1872.

LOCAL DEPARTMENT.

George Macdonald on Robert Burns.

The announcement that George Macdonald, the Scottish novelist, preacher and poet, would lecture on Robert Burns, called together last evening an audience considerably larger than the normal attendance of this winter on the lectures of the Young Men's Association course, and St. James Hall was filled almost to its full capacity. During the past few years the author of "Robert Falconer" has won many hearts among the reading public of this country. And that deep and genuine interest we feel in meeting face to face a man who has been the bringer of high and noble tidings to our souls, inspired not a few of the Buffalo audience of Mr. Macdonald. We feel sure that none who went to see and hear him came away disappointed; albeit in justice to the lecturer it should be said that he rose from a bed of serious sickness to keep his engagement in this city.

The American idea of a lecture is by no means that which Mr. Macdonald realized last evening in his glowing and philosophical yet familiar talk about Burns. He spoke absolutely without notes, and extemporaneously, allowing the mood of the moment to determine to a large extent the verbiage and details of his discourse. Yet not the slightest repetition or diffuseness resulted from this method, and every sentence had the freshness of a new and original utterance. He began, in a clear and resonant voice, notably Scotch in accent, by rapidly sketching the circumstances and surroundings which formed the cradle, so to speak, of Burns' infancy. The poverty of his birth, the honest and sterling character of his parents, his constant and loving intercourse with nature, were duly emphasized, and the bearing of these and outward circumstance at large in the formation of the poet was briefly discussed. What makes the poet? was the question which the first part of the lecture proposed and felicitously answered. The poet, Mr. Macdonald argued, is not such in virtue of any quality different from that which all men possess, but rather because he has all the human elements in a larger and fuller measure than his fellows. He is "our bigger brother," said the lecturer, and is dear and precious to us because he incloses us and all men within the circle of his ample human heart. His widespread sympathies embrace the whole world and make him feel with all that feels. Not a flower lifts its face to him, but he sees into the recesses of his heart. In this connection the influence of all the phases of nature on the growing mind of Burns were finely portrayed.

In the second part of his discourse Mr. Macdonald proceeded to tell his hearers what the man thus gifted and prepared, by circumstance genial or adverse, had done for his fellow men. Firstly, he had taught that men are to be estimated, not according to what they have, but according to what they are, and that even in the depths of poverty the true man may walk a king and rejoice in a heart-happiness beyond the power of the world to confer. A few stanzas from the "Epistle to Davie" exquisitely illustrated this creed of the ploughman poet. Again, Burns had, beyond all poets, set forth the innate dignity and worth of man as man. He was the poet of humanity, and taught its sacredness. To illustrate Burns' power as an artist, as well as his dramatic genius, the speaker recited the greater part of "Tam O'Shanter," and brought out with fine effect the fun, pathos and wonderful movement of the poem. He then spoke of Burns as a writer of songs. The song, he said, is a little thing, but how it flies like a shuttle from heart to heart, weaving around all a web of common sympathy! By his songs Burns did more than all others to quicken the spirit of Scottish nationality, to make Scotchmen love each other better and to render them worthier citizens of Scotland and the world. With glorious feeling at this point the lecturer recited "Scot's wha hae wi' Wallace bled." To hear this lyric read as Mr. Macdonald read it, was to get a new insight into Scottish history.

Two other recitations from the songs of Burns followed, the first, "Whistle and I'll come to you, my lad," exhibiting the humor and naivete of his muse; the second, "My Nannie's Awa," breathing a tone of the deepest and tenderest pathos. Both were exquisitely given. In the closing part of his lecture Mr. Macdonald spoke, with no glazing of facts, of the dark side of Burns' life. That he frequently drank to gross excess was admitted and explored, but in extenuation the lecturer gave a picture of the manners of his time and country which showed under what temptation and absence of restraint the poet smnnd. Yet that he was a drunkard in the common acceptation of the word, was denied. Everyota of his tedious and difficult duty as a gauger was found to have been scrupulously discharged, and he died, albeit his salary was but $250 a year, free from debt. Moreover, one of the grandest of his songs was composed within a few months of his untimely decease. But, of this and other of the poet's sins, Mr. Macdonald spoke in terms that could not be misunderstood. What Burns might have been and what poetry he might have written had he been true to himself, he contemplated with infinite sorrow and regret.

In the above brief sketch of the lecture we have indicated only its general drift, and give no idea of the glow that pervaded its delivery, or of the eloquent, suggestive and sentences expressions with which it abounded. In his discourse the lecturer made no secret of the profound religious belief which fills his mind and pervades all his thought, and those who heard him will not soon forget either the earnest manner of his utterance or the poetic communications of truth to which his Scottish tongue gave an unwanted emphasis.

DAYTON, OHIO: TUESDAY MORNING, FEBRUARY 4, 1873.

George McDonald's Lecture.—Quite a large audience gathered in Music Hall last night, to hear Mr. McDonald's lecture on Tom Hood. The unpleasantness of the weather being considered, the attendance was a compliment to the lecturer which he will readily appreciate. The lecturer used an easy conversational style, free from any display of rhetoric or oratory. Judged by his name and his pronunciation, if there were no other means of ascertaining the fact, Mr. McDonald is a Scotchman, and the quaintness of some of his expressions added to the effect of his lecture. His reflections upon laughter as a characteristic of humanity were original and amusing, and excited thought in the minds of many, no doubt, who had often enjoyed a hearty laugh without an appreciation of the blessing which enabled them to enjoy the fun which stimulated mirthfulness to such an exhibition of its power. It is said that laughter is peculiar to man, and that none of the lower animals possess the faculty. Mr. McDONALD, however, gave an instance, the only one on record, we believe, in which a horse was seen to smile at the antics of a tomcat, and in anticipation of the fun he would have in seizing grimalkin by the back and tossing him to the roof of the stable. The reporter feels under some obligation to give credence to the horse laugh, because it is verified by the word of an English bishop, who caught the animal in the very act. But for this clerical authority he would be disposed to doubt the truth of the story. Still, as the case stands authenticated by the assurance of a bishop, it must be admitted that one horse is known to have been gifted with mirthfulness, and that a smile was seen to ripple over his long face and twinkle in his big eyes. The fact inspires a feeling of respect and reverence for the horse, which vastly increases the high regard already felt for the noble animal. Bergh, the philanthropist, ought to become acquainted with this new attribute of the beast he has labored so long and so well to protect from oppression, cruelty and wrong.

Mr. McDonald had no sympathy or respect for the pharisees who make their long and sour faces the representatives of their piety. The power to laugh was one of the ingredients of humanity which God himself had given, and the proper exercise of the faculty on appropriate occasions, was good for the body and the soul. The audience applauded the statement, and so it was endorsed as authority.

Coming to the subject of the lecture, Tom Hood, the great English poet and humorist, Mr. McDonald gave some touching descriptions of the character and sufferings of that gifted man. Hood for years, and while engaged in elaborating his most delightful productions, which set on a host of spectators to laugh—and they were not of the "barren" kind—was literally holding death at arm's length. Suffering from pulmonary disease, and resisting its progress by every means in his power, the spirit of mirthfulness, the acute perception of the ludicrous was ever present with him. Christian, as he was, while upon his death-bed, he produced some of his most popular and entertaining pieces. Indeed, those productions of his fancy, which were the toast of the nation, were written under circumstances which gave pain to his family whenever they witnessed the manifestations of pleasure with which the public read and enjoyed them.

The metaphysical disquisition on the close alliance between pathos and humor, the reporter does not presume to analyze, and time does not permit an elaboration of the ideas presented, in this hastily written notice of the lecture. The artesians from which tears may flow upon provocations so opposite in their character as those delineated by the lecturer, may lie very close together, but most people, if they had their choice, would prefer that the flow which fills the ducts should be from that which brings joy to the heart rather than from the well of bitter waters which sorrow draws upon.

The readings from Hood happily illustrated the peculiar characteristics of the poet. The "Song of the Shirt," which every one has read, is a masterpiece of tenderness and pathos. The veritable history of Miss Kilmanegg with her golden leg, might have been more extensively quoted for the edification and amusement of the audience, than the lecturer thought proper to do. The other samples of Hood's genius and humor were well chosen, though familiar to many of the audience.

Altogether, Mr. McDonald's lecture was a very enjoyable production, affording food for thought, which perhaps, will be generally appropriated.

## HAMLET.

### Mr. George MacDonald's Farewell Lecture.

As previously announced, Mr. George MacDonald delivered his lecture on "Hamlet," in Association Hall, last evening, by invitation of many of our leading citizens.

By request, Mr. William Cullen Bryant introduced the speaker. Mr. Bryant said:

#### MR. BRYANT'S REMARKS.

It is my office this evening to introduce to this audience, which I am glad to see so numerous, a native of the British Isles, a kinsman of ours by race, whose comments on a great work of the greatest poet of modern times we have not only come to hear, but whose own character and genius we are assembled to honor. For greatly as we admire his genius, we no less admire the noble purposes in which it has employed itself. In one of his poems Walter Scott has said that Dryden 'profaned his God-given strength.' The countryman of Scott who addresses us to-night has hallowed his God-given strength by the putting it under the direction of the most generous aims—by using it in the grand endeavor to make his fellow-men better and happier. It is not as the mere contitter to our entertainment that we admire him; we reverence him as a benefactor of mankind.

When I think of the eminent persons who of late have visited our continent from the British Islands, with the view of addressing our public assemblies, my mind is carried forward to a state of things which in future years will be almost certain to result from the relations borne to each other by the different regions in which our language is spoken. In the early times of Greece, at the very birth of Greek literature, when that remarkable people, the Greek race, were scattered in cities on almost every coast of the Mediterranean, and on all its isles, they acknowledged the bond of a common language, and regarded each other as brethren. Before the use of letters had become common, a tribe of minstrels had arisen, who journeyed by land and sea, from coast to coast, from one to one, wherever the Hellenic stock had planted its colonies and sang the traditions of the past, delighting the multitudes with recitals of wonderful adventure and examples of heroism and love of country. These were the lecturers of those early days. Something like this, although on a vast scale, is beginning to result from the wide dispersion of that branch of the human family the language of whose sides is English. As the different communities, which they have planted on different continents and islands, in different belts of latitude and under different constellations, become great and populous, and advance in civilization, their eminent men—the expounders of the laws of universal nature, their reconcilers of apparently discordant truths, their teachers of human duty, their inquirers into the traditions of the past, will go forth to stand before vast audiences in regions distant by a whole hemisphere from that in which they were themselves trained, and speak to hushed thousands concerning subjects to which they have given the study of their lives. Then will the native of Vancouver's Island address the assembled men and women of Australia, and the chemist of Nova Scotia will perform his brilliant experiments before audiences at the Cape of Good Hope. The people of those regions will demand the corporal presence of those whose renown fills the circle of the globe, and by the aid of even more rapid means of communication than we now enjoy the call will be obeyed. Permit me—as one of the early illustrations of the new era of which I am speaking, to present to you Mr. George MacDonald, who will do us the favor to speak this evening of the Hamlet of Shakespeare.

### MR. MACDONALD'S LECTURE.

Mr. MacDonald began by saying he had been a student of Shakespeare for many years, and that the more he read the more he discovered that appeared to be new. It was a soil which could be cultivated without limit and always with profit. But in the play under consideration the whole interest lies in the character of Hamlet, and the whole burden of all the multitudinous criticism that has been written upon the play, the whole, main question is: "What sort of a man was this Hamlet? Can we understand him?" And the marvellous thing is that although so few dare to say that they thoroughly understand this character,

yet the play is the most popular of all his plays. Why? Because when we do not understand we yet feel that we touch the man. We perceive a man in perplexity, and yet compelled to act.

The lecturer would try to make his auditors understand Hamlet on the supposition that he had found him out. He presents him at thirty years of age, in the University of Wittenburg; he is an optimist. When he heard from the ghost that his uncle had killed his father, he wrote upon his tablet that "a man may smile, and smile, and be a villain." It was not new, but it was wrought in his nature by this incident, although it was suppressed by his fear to be unjust.

He referred to certain touches of expression which show the religious condition of Hamlet. You can be more assured of the character of the man by a thing dropped by him than by anything he can make up his mind to say. In Shakespeare there are hints dropped thickly, which are unsuspected by the common reader. They are sometimes in the most unexpected places, in the names; Shakespeare never gives any notice when he has made a point. I have often been moved by the mere silence of Shakespeare. At the very beginning of this play, in the first soliloquy that Hamlet speaks, we find him in such a state of misery that the thought of suicide flits across his mind. He disposes of it at once, and it is not spoken of again in the play. He does it by the only argument against suicide—for there is but one. The sole argument is that if there be a God, there is a probability at least that he had a good intent in making us. Hamlet says: "Oh! that this too, too solid flesh would melt." That is enough. There is no more about it in the play. The play might be called a play of consciousness.

The common idea of Hamlet is that from constitutional or student habits either or has become incapable of action; that he has been thinking and thinking, and has so spent the energies of nature on thought that he has none left for will; but the lecturer proceeded to show the incorrectness of this view. How does it come that this man of inactivity, of incapacity for making up his mind and inability to carry it out, is the best fencer in the whole kingdom of Denmark? Then we see Hamlet, in seeking the truth of the ghost story, beginning to scheme and contrive, and instantly reserving that he will have a well-known play acted before the king, for which he will write a scene, and he is successful in producing the effect he sought. That is not like a man incapable of action. After the play he goes to his mother's chamber, and there he opens his whole heart to her; tells her what she is, what her husband is, and what he was; and when he hears a noise behind the tapestry he knows that there is not a single moment for deliberation. His betrayal of himself will go to the king—it may be the king himself, and in an instant he runs his weapon through the arras, and kills the man—the right man, for whoever it is he has caught the secret and must die. Is that like a man who could not act? Then again, on his way to England, when he opens the commission, and finding in it an order to put him to death on his arrival, substitutes the names of those who are taking him.

He would not discuss the question of Hamlet's madness, for no student could believe in it. His melancholy was due to his mother's conduct. The conduct of Ophelia confirmed his view that there was no constancy in women.

Mr. MacDonald advised his young friends with a keen eye and great faith to read Shakespeare. Where something is unintelligible, said he, the probability is that there is a gem if you can get at it. In all Shakespeare's tragedies he compels you to think of the world beyond this. It has been brought against the play a no plot in it; but he would not agree with Dr. the late Mr. John of York who would give Hamlet the "poetic justice" of setting him on a throne which had just been defiled by the murder of his father and the dishonor of his mother.

Mr. MacDonald concluded as follows:

"For the kindness I have received in America I am very grateful. We came to you loving and knowing that we should love yet more, and, instead of being disappointed, with our hearts larger for the thoughts of so many more friends than we had before; and if word of mine could be of any value, the love between the countries will surely be at least a little strengthened by the report of your goodness which in honesty we are compelled to carry back with us. Never let us misunderstand each other, whatever we do. Let there be no lies between us, and let us know that whatever reports and vague rumors of dislike and annoyance and ill-natured criticism arise, they arise only among the triflers on both sides, and the thinking and honest men of both sides are just like each other, and they care for each other not only in their own interests, but in the same language, and the same literature, the Shakespeare, not to speak of the same Bible—whatever our little bickerings be—will only be the better friends for any word that compels us to explain what we mean to each other."

Dr. Bellows then delivered a short farewell address, to which Mr. MacDonald responded briefly. His numerous friends afterwards crowded about him and bade him good-by.