Takarangi, still quivering his méré in an excited hand, cried his loud farewell, higher and higher until he almost screamed it:—
“Farewell! Depart! Depart!
And greet your many ancestors.”
Then he snatched up a soft flax mat on which he had been kneeling, and, advancing, placed it at the foot of the bier. There arose again the wild heart-breaking cry, “Haere atu, Haere atu E Koro!” “Go, O, Old Man, to That Place, That Place!”
Subsiding into respectful silence, after their excited outburst, the Maoris formed up in line, and with bowed heads and tear-stained faces, filed past the coffin in order to shake hands with the Premier’s sons and take their last look at their friend.
The body lay in state for three hours, and thousands of the dead Premier’s “subjects,” as many of them loved to call themselves, passed in front of it. There was a service in the pro-cathedral, and the procession followed the remains to Observatory Hill, where the worker found a resting-place. On the day of the funeral, the whole colony was in mourning. The occasion was absolutely unique. One impulse ran through the whole community; one thought prevailed; and one sentiment was in all breasts. The man who had stood at the head of the administration for thirteen years, who had toiled with the people and for them, and who had been called suddenly away, was in every mind. They saw him again, as they had known him best, with his kingly presence and his majestic bearing, when he loved to come amongst them, listening to their troubles, inquiring into their grievances, righting their wrongs, and granting their petitions with the air and grace of a mighty monarch. He had had many enemies, as well as many friends, but all joined in reciting the good he had done, and extolling his splendid qualities.
The sorrow caused by his death was felt in all parts of the Empire. When the news was announced to the world, messages of condolence were sent to New Zealand.
The Secretary of State for the Colonies sent the following messages to the Hon. W. Hall-Jones:—
