At Wellington.

After many days of gloom and drizzle—ceaseless, all-penetrating drizzle—the good people of Wellington on that eventful Sunday morning saw the sun at last, rising through clouds, it is true, but clouds illumined and glowing with light and warmth. This unfamiliar sun rose upon a city astir and a people afoot, converging from all points to Tinakori-road and Hill-street, through which the procession was to pass to the railway station. By 7 o'clock, when the time came for the commencement of that last sad journey, the pathways were packed with a dense mass of people, all quiet, all sorrowing. Within the house of death preparations for the removal of the body were proceeding, and in the quiet of the death-chamber the wreaths which had come as a spontaneous offering from all parts of the country over which the dead man had ruled, were being removed with reverent hands from their places around the room.

When the appointed hour was at hand, the coffin was carried forth and laid upon the gun-carriage which awaited it in the avenue. Then the procession was formed, all its component parts falling easily into position.

First came the volunteers and seamen of H.M.S. Katoomba, then the Permanent Artillery escort, with arms reversed, marching to the solemn strains of the Dead March in "Saul" from the Garrison Band; then came the gun-carriage and its freight, with the members of the Ministry marching on either side as pallbearers; next, the chief mourners, followed by Judges, Mayors, Captain Bickford, of the Katoomba, and his officers, the heads of every State department, the Chairmen of the Harbour Board and the Chamber of Commerce, Magistrates, Presidents of the various local organisations, and the prison warders in their sombre uniforms. After these, the general public fell in, walking first two by two, but as the numbers grew, extending till the page 19 column reached from kerb to kerb. After the moving multitude on foot came a long line of carriages, including those containing the relatives of him whose body was being borne to its last resting-place, His Excellency's representatives, and representatives of every sect and phase of political feeling. As the procession moved on, the throng on the footpaths moved with it, till the streets were converted into bank-full streams of humanity. Presently the last solemn notes of the Dead March ceased, and the band gave forth a funeral march interwoven with such a strain of pathetic melody as to at once enchain the attention—it was "The Garland of Flowers," by Boyes. Still down the crowded streets the column moved, every moment adding to its numbers, and as the railway station was approached it was seen to be surrounded by a sea of people. Arrived at the station, the military opened ranks, the people falling back with them, and through the lane thus formed the coffin was reverently' carried to the funeral train drawn up at the platform. Here, in a car specially prepared, and following next to the engines and tender, was the coffin laid, a black velvet pall and the Union Jack covering it, and these in turn were covered with the exquisite wreaths sent by colleague, friend, and sympathiser. Next to the funeral car was n carnage with Mrs. Ballance and her relatives, and after it other carriages with the colleagues and brother-legislators of the dead man, with the Judges, the Cousuls, the heads of all the departments, the press, the military officers, and representatives of the local bodies and organisations—some 200 in all. Never has a New Zealand train borne so representative a freight.