THE TRIBUNE A Newspaper By Arthur Desmond

Ragnar Redbeard Archive & Publisher proudly present the whole first number of "THE TRIBUNE" By ARTHUR DESMOND. October 18, 1890. (More issues soon)



The Orator’s voice is a mighty power, as it rolls from shore to shore;
And the fearless pen has more sway o'er Men than murderous cannon’s roar.

Let a word be flung from the Tribune’s tongue, or a drop from the fearless pen,

And the chains accurst asunder burst that fetter the minds of Men.



Vol. 1. NO. 1] SATURDAY, OCTOBER 18, 1890. [Price 2d. Post Free 2½d.


When in the days of ancient Rome an iron-hearted aristocracy of wealth and power conspired to enslave, murder, and crush the common people, it often occurred that a man of genius and commanding ability uprose to defend the disorganised plebeians.

Such a man the plebeians listened to gladly. They cheered him on and elected him—as their champion—to the only public office in their gift. They made him Tribune. In this capacity he could neither make laws nor alter them; but by raising his hand and speaking a word he could paralyze the whole executive machine, and prevent oppressive edicts from being put in force, Often and again the people’s vindicator was deserted in his sorest need by the very men whose battle he fought. Then bitter indeed was his fate, for, hated by the Rich, and abandoned by the Poor, he usually fell a victim to hired bullies in the employ of a malignant oligarchy. His blood dyed the steps of the forum, and his dead body floated down the Tiber.

Our readers should remember that this paper is placed in an exactly similar position to that held by its old world human namesake. It stands in the gap—it faces the music of war—the Capitalist’s cannonade will concentrate upon it; and if not loyally supported when the battle joins, behold, it must share the fate of its ancient prototype—it must die.

THE TRIBUNE A Newspaper By Arthur Desmond 1890

Arthur Desmond's "THE TRIBUNE." Vol. I. No.1. Saturday, October, 18, 1890.

Read Arthur Desmond's "THE STANDRARD BEARER" Edited By HARD KASH.


It is such brutal barbarians as Treasurer McMillan, of New South Wales, that foment revolutions. Proposing to “shoot the strikers down like dogs, sir,” is very dangerous talk. No doubt he and his class would like an opportunity to do so, which shows their brutal vindictiveness. This McMillan has a brother in this city, we believe, whose thought trends in a similar direction. He is chief of the “Auckland ‘Masters’ Association.”


Col. Price, of Victoria, who told his hired soldiers to “Fire low” when they did fire at the strikers, is a son of the gaoler John Price, formerly conyict-driver of Norfolk Island, and who was killed by the prisoner Melville. The father was a cold-blooded brute, and the son cakes after him. It is such veneered savages that are always hired by oligarchys to “preserve law and order,” which means, in plain language, to murder the people if they dare to resist being plundered. “The origin of all.”


Not systems fit and wise—not faith

with rigid eyes—not wealth with

golden pile—not power with gracious

smile—not e’en the potent pen.—

Wanted men.

  Not words of winning note—not

thoughts from life remote—not fond

religious airs—not sweetly languid

prayers—not softly scented creeds.—

Wanted deeds.

  They that can dare and do—not

longing for the new—not prating of

the old—good life and actions bold—

these the occasion needs.—

Men and deeds.


The Railway revenue for the last half year is £20,000 short of the estimate. What splendid business men these three Commissioners are, to be sure. They run the public highways, and inland carrying trade, purely in the interests of a Steamship Syndicate, and the loss made Yin the operation has to be made good by the asinine taxpayers. This comes of having shareholders of Shipping Companies at the head of public departments.


The unselfishness so nobly displayed by the self-styled capitalists of Auckland deserves our unbounded congratulations. In a truly touching manner they are paying freight rates that mean approaching insolvency, in order to gratify a hero-hearted love of monopoly, a noble-minded hatred of reform. We sympathise from the bottom of our souls with these “merchants and importers” who, at the dictates of a Loan Company, are sacrificed as a burnt offering on the altars of Mammon. Bitter is their fate, surely, but it will he bitterer far when foreclosure follows. Many of these so called merchants are merely figureheads. Behind them and behind the Union Company is the gigantic power of “the Bank.” They are bound hand and foot in financial bonds. They hate labour combinations instinctively; but when they seriously take in hand to “crush unionism,” they have entered upon a mighty contract—a contract that even the Blood and Iron Chancellor failed ignominiously to accomplish.


John Dillon says, “Whenever I look at Mr. Balfour I am reminded of what an old Irishwoman said of an ugly woman who was well dressed, “Glory be to God that so much can be done with clothes.” What would the great Home Ruler say if he saw Inspector Broham strutting behind the barricades in all his gilded glory.


The Inspector was evidently made for great and heroic deeds—let us, therefore, offer him to Dublin Castle. He would be clearly in his element leading on the crowbar and battering ram brigades, smashing down the huts of the half-starved victims of grinding laws. He’s just the man for Balfour. That’s the place where glory waits him.


“The Gods from above the mad labour  


And pity mankind that will perish for 


The above term has been revived in New South Wales, but its disreputable source is not generally known. When its origin is thoroughly understood the word blackleg will, in comparison, be a term of endearment. In early colonial days Australia was another Siberia where the Great British Empire transported political suspects and its worst criminals. Convicts were deported for “their country’s good,” and crammed into ships that were veritable floating infernos. Many nominal offenders were amongst them; but half were men of the worst criminal class, —the human refuse of City slums, the worn-out material of the Philistines’ mills.  They had been reared in darkness and crime, and as society made war on them they retaliated by making crime a profession. Society had made them slaves from birth, it had deprived them of education and freedom; consequently they fought society openly and covertly with every weapon they could command. But their savage struggle was futile. Individually they were as helpless as the wild mustang of the Prairie, when the whirling lariat encircles his neck. Every wild plunge only tightens the noose. By thousands convicts were “shipped away to Botany Bay,” under the command of iron-hearted military martinets, whose highest joy was to torture and flog their prisoners.

In Australia these convicts were chained together in gangs, and treated more like brutes than men. Many of them were ornamented with a cannon ball, riveted by a short chain round their ankle, and when walking they carried the cannon ball in their hands. They wore a peculiar dress—were branded all over with broad arrows, and employed making public roads, and erecting public buildings. When one had been sufficiently tamed by starvation, hard-work, and the cat-of-nine-tails, he was hired-out as a “free labourer” to the primitive Australian squatter at a fixed market scale. He received a species of ticket of leave, and was graciously allowed to work for himself on terms dictated by his gaolers. His fate was agonizing in the chain gang, and sorrowful as a “free labourer.” His freedom consisted in not wearing actual iron chains when toiling to earn wealth for his master. He was officialy known as a “free labourer,” but if he dared to offend his boss, he could be unmercifully flogged into abjectness by order of the local J.P. Often he died under the lash—in fact, the word “free labourer” was then, as now, a huge mockery and a heartless fraud. The unfortunate convict had no other choice than to grind out his days in silence. The lessee of a “free labourer” had power to transfer him from master to master as mutual convenience required. In fact the “free labourer” had as much say in his own destiny as a working bullock would have now. If such “free labourer” became unruly or intractable, he was again put in the chain gang, or the hulks, to be slowly murdered by discipline and toil. The term ‘‘free labourer” has a suggestive ring about it of the hulks—the lash and the chain gang. As now used it is intended to be the honourable designation of a class of men that the social surroundings of Poverty and Toil have reduced to a similar state of “freedom.” Society crushes men into brutes—destroys their moral principle and robs them of the products of their labour. Monopoly grinds suffering humanity into powder—hunger acts as effectively in taming the slave as the cat of nine tails, and vice (encouraged by the State) is more of a drag on men than the cannon ball and the chain.

The story of Botany Bay should be studied by those who glory in the hollow mocking convict slang “free labour.” Its history is a horrible tale of organised crime and murder, under the aegis of the law. In one sense all that has passed away (as a terrible dream of the night), but its spirit is with us still, and under other designations in various disguises the convict still toils in the chain gang, and clanks his iron fetters. Some of the wealthiest men in New South Wales were at one time “wearers of the chain,” and it was one of these interesting specimens of plutocracy that revived the term ‘‘free labourer.”


Free labourer indeed! Free!


Poor things.

A deep-laid plot is being worked by a huge timber mill monopoly to break up the Milk Hands and Bushmen’s Union. This union ought to beware of possible traitors, and should work along quietly.


New Zealanders! you are the witnesses of a Titanic struggle—the capitalist press tells you between Capital and Labour. Disabuse your minds at once and for ever. The battle now being fought before your eyes is between two forms of Labour, Labour proper and Labour stolen, disguised under the name of Capital. The subsidized press of the Stock Exchange, these organs of the wealthy, denounce this strike. It stigmatises this strike as criminal! It appeals to you, the public, to withhold your sympathy from men rightly struggling to be free. Remember the cause of Labour is your cause, and the cause of your children. It rests with you to be held in reverence by generations yet unborn, to be loved and esteemed by the mighty maritime nation that will yet inhabit these islands, or be cursed and hated by a race of slaves whose gyves you have forged. The press of the Powerful calls upon you to discountenance the Unions (who are to-day fighting in the van) because you are put to some temporary inconvenience and expense. If victory is won by Labour it will be won in your interest, for the interests of all labour, whether of hand or brain, is identical. Who among you will reap any benefit from the triumph of the steamship owners. What per centage of our people own the steamships. Look in another column and see. Your interests are the interests of every man or woman who does not live on the labours of his fellows.

Every man who lives without working, as an absentee shareholder or landlord, demands some other man to do two days work, one day-for himself end a day for him that idles! Have you thought of this? You are told this strike is merely a question between employers and employed. Oh, no! Its ramifications are more extensive than that. The present battle is between the Past and the Future. The spirit of the past hovers over the legions of the rich, and the spirit of the future is in the hearts of the army of organized Labour. If Labour is defeated, be not indifferent, thy turn will come. All along the line so called Capital will lift its head like another Sulla for the subjection and enslavement of the workers. New Zealanders! ye who stand neutral, ye who decide the battle, think not that Labour’s defeat will not affect you. What Labour wins in one land is won by Labour in all lands What is lost by Labour in one land is lost by Labour everywhere. And that word Labour means the mighty murmuring millions—it means crucified humanity.

Onward then thy march must be,

    Faithful and true;

Nobler humanity will thee imbue,

No pain or trouble shun,

Sternly life’s duty done,

    Faithful and true.


It is a positive danger to human life the present system of running steamships. One has been nearly blown up, and another has, through want of steam, been rolling about helplessly at the mercy of the elements off a rock-bound coast. These vessels were manned by the offscourings of gaols and police courts, and if this continues the whole colony will be horrified some fine morning with the story of a terrible disaster. Two or three men have been already killed, or drowned; and in any other country some one would have been indicted for murder. In many cases passengers have to act as seamen, and, generally speaking, look after themselves. The navigation laws of New Zealand have been manipulated solely in the interests of steamship monopoly. The manager, chief director, and many of the shareholders are legislators. Shareholders are also at the head of government departments, otherwise it would be impossible to send vessels to sea dangerously undermanned by incompetent officers and crews.

YOU can get Rich Ceylon Tea at planter’s prices from the Direct Importers, John Earle & Co. 207 Queen St.


“I will clear out of the country first.” Such is the remark made by the secretary of the Maritime Council at the Government Conference, and when he spoke he voiced the sentiments of ten thousand more. Oppressive laws and organized monopoly has driven 20,000 men out of New Zealand within the last three years, and the cry is ‘‘still they go.” Every steamer carries away shoals of men who ought to be settlers—the bone and sinew of a young nation. Since the strike commenced three or four hundred stalwart workers have left, mostly for Peak Hills, and more are preparing to go rather than remain in slavery here. Would-be colonists have been systematically driven off the land—robbed of their just rights, and even refused enough wages to keep flesh and bone together. Hundreds of families live on less than five shillings a day, and often the breadwinner is for weeks “out of work.” Better that men leave our shores in thousands than for them to remain here as the bondmen of bankers; the victims of terrible laws. When capitalists conspire for the purpose of reducing wages, they are simply committing suicide. Already the shadow of the Official Assignee looms above their establishments. Auckland is going downhill every day, and if reform and that drastic reform is not soon taken in hand this city will soon be a village. Already the grass grows in its streets; already hundreds of dwelling places are decaying with “To Let” hung up in their cobwebbed windows. Fifty years of monopoly, fifty years of “splendid management” has brought us to this! How long shall we allow robbers to rule this glorious land, and drive its people to seek new homes across the sea?


The Registrar of Electors is striking names off the roll in a most arbitrary manner. Men are disfranchised who have a legal right to vote. This will decidedly invalidate the election. The rolls are being manipulated in a most disgraceful manner.

“Stand Like the Brave.”


Oh! Workmen, awake, the time is at hand,

With right on your side, then with hope firmly stand,

To meet your oppressors go, fearlessly go,

And stand like the brave with your face to the foe.


Whatever's the danger take heed and beware,

And tum not your back for no armour is  there;

Seek righteous rewards for your labour, then go,

And stand like the brave, with your face to the foe.


The cause of each other with vigour defend;

Be honest and true, and fight to the end;

Where duty may lead you, go, fearlessly go

And stand like the brave, with your face to the foe.


We fight not alone who seek to be freed,

And friends from afar send us help when we need;

And kindly they whisper, saying hopefully go,

And stand like the brave, with your face to the foe.


Let hope, then, still cheer us, though long be the strife,

More comfort shall come to the workman’s homelife;

More food for our children—demand it then go

And stand like the brave, with your face to the foe.


Press on, never doubting, redemption draws near,

The poor shall arise from oppression and fear;

Though great ones oppose you they cannot o’erthrow

If you stand like the brave, with your face to the foe.

RAGNAR REDBEARD'S UNMASKED POEMS: Batteries of pristine scorn and revolutionary songs. By Robert Carmonius

TRIBUNE readers should save money by getting their Tea from the Direct Importers, John Earle & Co, 207 Queen St.

Clink of Closing Rivets.

Bishop Julius, of Christchurch Cathedral, teaches exactly the same doctrine as that expounded by Pastor Birch, in the crater of Mount Eden. The daily press though have not dared to attack the Bishop with the same venom as they have attacked Birch. Birch has been systematically boycotted by the wealthier and most narrow-minded of his congregation. The friends of the poor have a rugged road to travel, but then they ought to remember that the Founder of Christianity was even more cruelly treated. He was done to death by Rich and the Powerful because he upheld and defended the cause of the Poor and Oppressed.

One bank in this colony, built up by British usurers out of the borrowed millions, possesses a slice of land consisting of something over 410 square miles. It has just lately raised the wind by pawning another 4,000,000 acres. With the money thus raised it is now working up another glorious land boom, and the first move is to reduce the “fearfully high rates of wages paid in the colony.” When it succeeds in pauperising the workers then the whole world will be delighted and astonished at the glories to be derived from” “the introduction of foreign capital.”

At Huntley, the other day, a rev. gentleman coolly insulted his congregation, mostly miners, and when he called for someone to lead the singing the secretary of the Union rose up and walked out, followed by the whole congregation. Shall the church be always in league with the rich. There was a time when it was otherwise.

Here is a splendid text for the Capitalistic press. The gravediggers of Dublin have gone out on strike, and poor humanity cannot get covered. with a few shovelsful of cold clay, so says the cable liar. The next move will be for the ladies to ‘‘go out,” and then, O horror of horrors, we will neither get born nor buried. Mercutio! Mercutie! hereis your chance; dip thy pen in double distilled gall.

The word “free labourer” has done more injury to the cause of United Labour, in this preliminary battle skirmish between the cohorts of Labour and the legions of monopoly, than any other lying invention of the capitalistic press. The word insinuates that men are really “free” when poverty drives them to act a mean and dishonourable part. But can he be called ‘‘free and independent” who has to beg from a brother man leave to toil, who has to offer himself at market rates, who has to sell himself for what he'll bring. If organized Labour is defeated wages will be systematically reduced all over the colony. This is behind all the efforts made by the enemies of Labour, and it is this for which the Railway Triune and the Government are working. Degrade Labour to declare dividends is the secret hope of their soul.

The elections are now approaching at a rapid rate, and every elector should prepare for the struggle that will decide New Zealand’s fate for the next three years. The land rings must be smashed up through legislation, and at the same time we should set about the organization of all labour at present outside the Unions. If the fight is fought inside as well as outside the House, then victory is assured—the future is ours.

Champion, who poses over in New South Wales as a Labour leader, is a species of undersized dude, who never did a hard day’s work in his life. At present he is in the employ of the ‘London Times,’ writing articles against the strike. All along it has been thought there was a screw loose somewhere, for when the press of the wealthy takes to praising a Labour chief and holding him up as a pattern they do not do it without a reason. When the Plutocracy take to praising a Reformer depend upon it they have made him “safe.”

“I wish I had left it alone.” So says “Sir Nelson,” the manager of Nelson Bro.’s Freezing Company in Hawkes’ Bay. He formed a “free association” of labourers down in that monopoly-ridden province, consisting of all the dead-beats of the by-ways, for nearly all the best men are naturally Unionists. Other petty despots will say what he is reported to have said before Unionism is done with them and completed its mission regenerating the world. This strike is at the best only an outpost skirmish under disadvantageous circumstances. This would-be autocrat of Hawkes’ Bay, who undertook so gaily to break up Unionism, is not to-day so lighthearted as when he began. The firm is loosing money over it at a great rate, but the shareholders are so very generous. Where will their dividends stolen from Labour be when the main body of the great Labour army comes up with the tramp of ten million men? On one side will stand the hirelings, the free labourers of wealth, and on the other the cohorts of Freedom—on one side monopoly, and on the other the ranks of United Labour. On one side the workers, and on the other the drones.

During the strike the P. and O. boats have nearly every trip gone away with more than half their Australian cargo unloaded. The battle is really being fought in Sydney and Melbourne, and the Unionists have won over there all along the line. If we had only halt the determination and spirit of Australians, it would be well with us. Ten years of Bank Government and fifty years of Monopoly has nearly crushed the manliness out of us. When the dock strike was on in London our New Zealand contributions were small, very small. When the battle joins—when the fight has to be fought—we are seldom in the front ranks. How long shall this reproach rest upon us.

Laishley, L.S.D., the erudite literary pretender, is busy electioneering in Queenstreet. Our present members (with a few honourable exceptions) are a disgrace to the colony; but God help us if we trust such as Laishley.

The Bank of Australasia has “carried forward” £15,000, and declared a dividend of 14 percent. All made out of Labour—every cent.


When the London Dockers revolted last year the people of Australasia cabled home large sums of money in order to help those “freeborn’’ Englishmen to get 6d, per hour for working like horses. In return, thousands of pounds now being sent out to assist the wage workers of Australasia in the present struggle. Lordling politicians and figurehead Govenors talked grandiloquently about the ‘‘Federation of the English Race,” gut men with horny hands and grimy brows went and accomplished it. The Democracy of England and these Colonies now feel that common bond of sympathy which is the only bond of permanent union between men or nations. ‘The future of the world is in the hands of United Labour federated around the Globe. The Solidity of Labour is shown when a comrade is injured beyond the seas, and we feel the shock here. Therefore let us stand for ever as friends—let us join hands across the sea for mutual defence and brotherly assistance—in the hope that the time is not far away when manliness and honour shall take the place of gold-greed and Laissey-faise—when Christianity shall triumph over Demand and Supply. So may it be.



Central Printing Office,


W. WILKINSON, Proprietor.




New Type and Machinery and experienced



Cards, Billheads, Circulars, Hand Bills, Show

Bills, Pamphlets, and all other work at lowest prices, and on the shortest


Preliminary Notice.




Will open those Central Premises in

Queen-street, now known as the


With a




of every description, at an early


Opening date in next issue.










Corner of



Thursday, Oct. 23rd,

With a

Choice, Selected Stock


Drapery and Clothing.




Backsliding Butchers.

The hours recently arranged among the Master Butchers for closing their shops we believe is 6 p.m., which hour most of them—we are pleased to see—strictly adhere to. Yet there are a few—who for reasons best known to themselves—only partially close their premises at that hour: they remain in their shops and serve customers with the lights turned down. Now this is most dishonourable conduct, and does not give fair play to the straighter members of the Union. Two shops in Newmarket are known to transgress, also one in Parnell, one in Victoria Street, and another in Karangahape Road. Now it is to be hoped that this will not continue; and that when men enter into an organization they will loyally support its laws, and “practice what they preach.”


The Kauri Timber Company is making a tremendous effort to break up this young organization. They have their paid agents inside and outside the Union, and every possible scheme is being tried to cause a disruption. When it was first started they placed One of their town managers at its head, and the consequence was that the freedom of debate was simply strangled. Members did not care to incur the enmity of a powerful “Boss,” and run the risk of being sacked at a moments notice; so they held their tongue when they ought to have spoken. No organization can be recognized as a Labour Union which admits masters and slavedrivers. This rule made by the United Labour Council of New Zealand excluded Mr. Thomas White and others, and several of these are now doing their utmost to smash up the Kauri Timber Worker’s Union, by writing to the daily Press and spreading false reports.


They are working in more ways than one, in perfect harmony with the Syndicate that employs them; but the ulterior motive is to disrupt the Union that the Companies may continue to get their work done for starvation wages. If the Union grows in strength and influence wages must be increased, and it is to prevent this which they see is surely coming that the Timber Company now so freely spends its shareholders cash. A word to the wise is enough. Members of the Union have an uphill battle to fight, and they should suspect all who lay themselves out to foment dissension and cause trouble. To work along steadily, -collect money, -be-calm, -cool and-collected. That is the policy that will win in the long run.


Sir Henry Parkes, the Atkinson of New South Wales, is hurling forth his oratorical jingo thunderbolts against the united wage-earners of that colony. He coolly informs them that he and his Government (representing the landlord and the capitalist) means to be master. Because men refuse to work for syndicates at starvation wages the Nordenfeldts and murderous Gatlings are to be wheeled out in the streets of Sydney. Authority, the bosom friend of monopoly, is shining up its battle-axe in readiness for that revolt which it knows will never come, and which if it really did come would make monopoly gather up its carpet bags and take a bee line for the hills. Munitions of war are being hunted up, and the dyed saw-dust which was passed off as gunpowder has been duly overhauled, and the big gun with the cannon ball a size too large is being got into working order. Elaborate measures are also being taken to guard the Treasury, lest an excited mob rushes in and seizes the deficiency and pockets its public debt.


The great Sir ’Arry would pose as a colonial Czar, but the people of Australia with free schools and a free press are not so easily dragooned as the semi-serfs of Russia. Ho will find to his cost that the masses mean to be “King of May,” or know the reason why. The Sovereign people must rule, and any government lending itself to a conspiracy of oppression must be promptly swept aside. In rounded periods Sir Henry states that the strike has assumed alarming proportions, and therefore, rather than lose office, he is prepared to urge on civil war. It is always thus, the last trick of capital defeated is “physical force.” Such men as Parkes and Macmillan are dangerous men in a democratic community.


If “Someone has to be master” in New South Wales it must be THE PEOPLE who pay the taxes and produce the wealth, who shear the wool, who clear the forests, who sow the seed, and reap the grain; the Sovereign People.


Farm and dairy couples, 25s to 27s 6d per week; ordinary farm hands, 10s to 15s; milkers, youths and decrepit old men, 2s 6d to 12s; pick and shovel, scrub clearing (no pay for wet days), 6s to 6s 6d per day; cooks, with food, 15s to 25s per week; gardeners and grooms, with food, 10s to 15s per week; undersized boys, with food, 2s 6d to 5s per week; seamen, with food, from £4 to-£7 per month; mill hands, from 4s 6d to 7s per day; bustmen, with food, 22s 6d to 27s (d per week; girls (to serve in rich men’s houses), from 2s to 10s per week; clerks, from 5s up to 30s per week; policemen, 6s and 6s 6d per day.


Why not? Surely those “sweat of brain,” as Carlyle puts it, is their only capital ought to have as much protection from grinding employers as manual labourers. Especially as it is rare for an employer of “mind” to consider that any fixed hour is necessary to knock off. He thinks that the mental machine may go on unoiled for ever. Never at any time were those who toil with the brain so overtasked. In Auckland they receive even less than the wages of Chinamen, and exist almost on next to nothing. Their fashionable suit often covers a hungry and stunted body. No class of men are such veritable slaves as the cheap clerk, and there are shoals and shoals of them. They may be seen marching up and down Queen-street with masher collars, and gilt headed canes, without a shilling in their pocket to jingle on a tombstone. Yet most of them, in their own little way, are champions of capital—because—it pays them, or they think it does. A Penman’s Union is much wanted.

The Direct Importing Company Ltd., of this city, notify in another column the opening of their new premises on Thursday, Oct. 23rd. The new departure is to be made at the corner of Queen and Victoria Streets, and certainly if a splendid position, with every device for the comfort of patrons, and the display of all that charms the female heart are factors towards success, the D.I.C. should be fortunate. The stock is all new and specially selected, und Mr A. R. Morrison as heretofore directs the management, another earnest of success.


This paper has been issued in the teeth of a most dishonourable boycott. Several offices have refused to print it, except on prohibitory terms, and even the paper to print it on has been almost unobtainable, although there is plenty in the city. Financial pressure has been brought to bear for all it is worth, yet here is No. 1. If we get generously supported, every future number will be better than its predecessor.


Friends will please remember that every paper purchased at the office brings in thirty per cent more than if bought anywhere else.


In another column will be found the advertisement of Messrs. Rushbrook, Snedden & Co, who are about to open the premises at present known as the D.I.C., as a General Drapery Emporium, with a new and varied stock. The date of opening and further particulars will appear in our next issue.


It is cabled out to us that strange reports are current in London as to the solvency of well known great firms. Similar reports are current even in this City, and no one would be surprised at whatever may occur.


“CHRIST AS A SOCIAL REFORMER” is the title of an article now being issued by Mr. Arthur Cleave, of Vulcan lane. The author treats the subject in a style that is new to many in this city. He looks upon Christ as a great Hebrew Reformer, who was murdered because he upheld and defended the cause of the poor. We can recommend this pamphlet to our readers.


Only little blocks and leaden—yet a mighty seed is sown,

Whence upstarting legions threaten every tyrant on a throne.

Only little types yet mighty—Caesar's hosts are gone,

But they—clicking, clicking through the ages—wear the bondsman’s chains away

Only leaden blocks of metal—yet a spirit issues thence at whose touch the world responding—Blesses Guttenberg and Mentz.


Gentlemen, —I have the honour to offer myself as a Candidate for your suffrages at the forthcoming election, and will take an early opportunity of addressing you.


As I have never asked an elector for his Vote, you will not, I feel assured, consider it discourtesy or indifference on my part if I defer my appeals to you until they are made from a public platform.

I have the

honour to be,


Your obdt, servant,



IMPORTANT MEETING of above Monday next, at 7.30, at Rutland St. Rooms. Every member urgently requested to attend. F. R. BUST, Secretary.


A Meeting of the Eight Hours’ Demonstration Committee will be held in the Rutland Street Rooms on Tuesday next, at 7.30 p.m. sharp,


All Delegates and Picquets expected to be present, as the Drawing for Places in Procession will take place.


F. R. BUST, Secretary.


PIONEER ASSEMBLY Meets every Wednesday, at 7.30 p.m., in Cook Street Hall. C. Wright, M.W. H.W. Farnall, Recording Secretary


SPECIAL General MEETING of the UNITED LABOUR Electoral Committee is hereby summoned by order of the Executive, for Monday at 7.30 p.m. at Robson’s Rooms. All delegates expected to attend; business of much importance.

WORKING MEN, you have been my best customers

for 20 years. I call your attention to the following:—

Sailors, Engineers, and Firemen’s Sweat Rags

Navy Blue Shirts and Drawsers

Duck and Drill Overalls

Working Shirts, Singlets

Sashes, Hats, &e.

Bakers’ and Carters’ Caps, Aprons, &c,

Diggers’ Moles, from 5s to 10s

Men’s Socks, from 34d

Working Men’s Shirts, from 1s 11d.

Belts, Braces, &c., at lowest prices Soft

and Hard Feft Hats, prices from 6d to 7s each.


Your wives and families can be supplied








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