Our Correspondents

Your correspondent, having been « out of sorts » lately, has not troubled much with pen or paper. For the past few weeks there has not been much to record, with one exception—the great Eight-hours' Demonstration on the 10th inst., and that certainly was a grand success Nearly every printing office in the city has adopted the eight-hours' movement, and the Auckland Branch of the Typographical Association made an excellent display in the procession. The leading trolly was drawn by four greys; the two leaders ridden by a couple of postillions, bearing on their heads tall hats made of newspapers. Under the canopy were men busily employed at various machines, not forgetting the serviceable old hand-press. At the rear of the van was the indispensable P.D.—rigged out in black, with horns and tail. The Herald office made a fine display. They exhibited the device of a globe surmounted by a Columbian press, and the motto Tempora mutantur nos et mutamur in illis. Workmen were engaged in printing off various sheets, one being the history of the Auckland press, another a reduced fac-simile of the front page of the paper. Bookbinding and litho apparatus were also represented. Next came the trolly of the Star, nicely decorated. Specimens of the numerous publications of the office were displayed. Men were at work at the machines, and boys were printing off handbills containing the following verses, composed for the occasion by Mr. W. R. Wills, of Otahuhu:

Come one, come all, come comrades true,
Be friends and brothers for all time;
Come help us celebrate in joy
This harbinger of days sublime.
When Labor in this smiling land
Shall sit enthron'd by peaceful bow'rs,
And Recreation be the right
To crown with joy the toiler's hours.
All recognize the sterling claim—
The honest toiler's just demand,
The right to labor—pleasure-rest—
And live—a monarch in the land.
Eight hours of honest manly toil.
Eight hours of sport or growth of mind,
Eight hours of needful balmy rest—
The right divine of all mankind.
Start now the games, let Pleasure rule,
And Love and Laughter hand in hand
Make us as children free from school,
And joyous in a smiling land.
And as we roam the pleasant meads,
Or run the well-appointed race,
We'll aye forget the days of wrong,
And welcome in the dawn of grace.
Then men shall be, as Scotia's bard
Hath sung upon his golden strings,
As one in bonds of true accord—
A noble band of working kings.
For brighter days are near at hand,
Untrammelled by a despot's rod;
Then man to man shall nobly stand,
True workers in the halls of God.

The Auckland Typographical Association are now getting their rules into circulation, and they hope by the New Year to have them in force in almost every office in the city.

I notice some new arrivals here, who have come in search of a sit, but without success so far. Mr. Alf. Tibbutt returned about the beginning of the month from Sydney, having been just twelve months away, and was fortunate in securing his old place in the Herald job-room. Mr. Frank Armiger arrived from Wellington a week ago. Mr. Hoare, one of the hands thrown out by the strike at Whitcombe and Tombs's, has also come up here. The electoral rolls, while they were in hand, absorbed all our surplus labor, and for a time, not a hand could be got; but the inevitable reaction followed. There are, however, signs of better times ahead for the comps.

We have still another paper—the Tribune—brought out in the supposed interests of the labor party. I am afraid that its career will be a very brief one.