I—General.

For many weeks, nay, months beforehand, an energetic committee—we can hand these bouquets round now that it's all over—under the direction of Mr. G. F. Dixon, had been hard at work, writing and wiring all over New Zealand and to the further con-fines of the known habitable globe. The clans were gathering, the pibroch sounding (metaphorically), the fiery cross flew from glen to glen, stout cohorts of the faithful assembled in city, township, and smiling country village. New Zealand's greatest lawyers threw up the biggest briefs of their careers to be there; farmers, Giants of Commerce, down to the very humblest and poorest, like you and us, dear reader, girded up their loins and made ready against the appointed day. The Committee met, quarrelled, agreed again, differed amicably, swore secretly at one another, rang one another up, interviewed People, wrote to the Council, wrote to the Professorial Board, wrote to the Governor, to the Prime Minister, to the Minister of Education, to the Chief Justice, talked to parsons, printers, and catererers; quarrelled, swore again—did all these things and many more. Reader, pause, think, consider! with what pangs is a Great Event like this brought to the birth! For you these strong-hearted men and women laboured in the heat of the day—salute them!

Enough! The last letter had been written, the last telephone had been abused, the last reporter interviewed, the last bit of propaganda written, censored, approved, and published. Easter approached—the Great Day was at hand.