THE MOURNING.

New Zealand Graphic, 27 June 1906, Page 46

THE MOURNING.

The pathos of this terribly sudden end to a life of such matchless strength and activity, needs no embellishment at our hands. These are subjects in which, perhaps, the deepest reverence and the strongest affection are revealed by silence, at least so far as emotional utterance is concerned; and no words of ours could possibly heighten the intensely tragic- sense of bereavement and desolation that surrounds this last scene of Mr. Seddon’s eventful life. From the private and personal standpoint of those nearest and dearest to Mr. Seddon, we cannot assume to speak. For the public estimate of his ability and his services to his country and the Empire, we must leave this record of his career to bear witness along with the tributes of affection and esteem which, gathered from many sources, follow this brief biography. So long had w-e been accustomed to accept Mr. Seddon’s supremacy and his domination of our public life as a matter of course, that for the moment the great majority- of people simply stared, incredulous and aghast, at the notices that met their eye on every side. The “New Zealand Times” has told us in a few graphic words how they received the tragic news in Wellington. “All day crowds read the bulletins posted outside the newspaper offices. Some of the spectators gazed for many- minutes of slow realisation. The few tragic words were full of a strange fascination. When 1 saw it on the office, I stopped and said, ‘My God!’ was the crystallisation by one man of the sudden leap of amazement and pain in the hearts of hundreds of the passers-by. ‘Well, he’d like to die that wav,’ was another thoughtful epitome of the general recognition of the dramatic nature of the statesman’s end. ‘At the height of his fame,’ so everybody thought and said. ‘Gone? Dick gone?' with a high-pitched note of anxiety, was a frequent ejaculation. And all of it —all the admiration, all the real sorrow of the news, was manifest in the sincere and softly-spoken, ‘Poor old Dick! God rest him!’ ” In every city and township-in New Zealand these scenes were re-enacted in various ways. Everywhere shops were closed, windows were draped in black, public business was brought to a standstill. But nowhere was the grief and dismay so widespread or so openly displayed as on his own well-beloved West Coast. In Greymouth, Hokitika, and Kumara the whole population seemed literally- overwhelmed with sorrow, and the strong men who rose at the hurriedly-gathered meetings of public bodies, to propose votes of condolence to the family of their dead friend, sat down, leaving the words unsaid, their voices choked with speechless sorrow. Perhaps even more plainly in these spontaneous demonstrations of affection than in all the circumstantial parade of national grief can be read the true greatness of the dead man, and the hold tlrat he so long maintained upon the respect and affection of the people. But before we leave the subject of the Premier’s death, we may be allowed to refer to one aspect of this tragedy which we have already inferentially suggested.