There were also reporters from the Dublin papers, and a representative--Miss O'Dwyer--of a syndicate which supplied ladies' journals with accounts of the clothes worn at fashionable functions.
The supreme moment of the day arrived when the company assembled to listen to words of wisdom from the orators selected to address them.
Seats had been provided by carting in forms from the neighbouring national schools.

A handsomely-carved chair of ecclesiastical design awaited Mr.Chesney.
He opened his speech by assuring his audience that there was no occasion for him to address them at all, a truth which struck home to the heart of Sir Gerald, who was trying to arrange himself comfortably at a desk designed for a class of infants.
'Facts,' Mr.Chesney explained himself, 'are more eloquent than words.
You have seen what I could never have described to you--the contented workers in this factory and the artistic designs of the fabrics they weave.

Many of you remember what Robeen was a few years ago--a howling wilderness.

We are told on high authority that even the wilderness shall blossom as a rose.' He bowed in the direction of the Reverend Mother, possibly with a feeling that it was suitable to acknowledge her presence when quoting Holy Writ, possibly with a vague idea that she might consider herself a spiritual descendant of the Prophet Isaiah.

'You see it now a hive of happy industry.' He observed with pleasure that the reporters were busy with their note-books, and he knew that these editors of public utterance might be relied on to unravel a tangled metaphor before publishing a speech.