Where Nature gave to our country a crude pathway, man has constructed a railroad.

Over the flat-topped hills down to the valleys by the rushing streams, through great cliff sides down to hazy towns, the iron tracks lead. They stand a monument to New Zealand, and are immortal to the memory of those men who fought with that great courage that smiles and hides the despair within, in order that the transport and commerce of the future might be ensured. And we have read from time to time how here men gave their lives while tunnelling a way through the earth—or how here men died of fever while bridging a ravine. Yet, to-day, if we take a railway map we may note how thick upon it is the web of lines going in every direction. The work of the engineers stands firm and true over the years. For three thousand one hundred and eighty-odd miles stretch the lines—for which these men have shed their life's blood… .

Yet you and I, who travel so often by railroad, and who take so much for granted, never render thanks to our railways nor realise their great value in everyday life.