EDISON.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VII, Issue 11, 14 March 1891, Page 6

EDISON.

HIS WORK AND HIS WORK SHOP. BY HORACE TOWNSEND. > SK3 QUARTER of a century ago a bright-faced lad, stout and sturdy but somewhat under--B*ze<l for His age, which was not above tourt Z t® en years, ran thrdugh the cars of the through trains on the Grand Trunk Railroad of Canada, selling newspapers and the somewhat archaic traveller’s literatureofthat /’Jr da ->- He had a winsome manner and a F ’V ready tongue, so that his stock disappeared rapidly enough to insure him what was for a boy of his years a fair weekly wage. With the conductors and engineers, and indeed all the employes of the road, he was on excellent terms, and his jokes were quoted from one end of the line to the other ; but the officials whose society he most affected in his leisure time were the telegraph operators, the click of whose primitive instruments he was never tired of hearing./ Not that he bad much leisure time to speak of, for, im-jtddition to his paper and book selling duties, he edited,pointed, and published a paper of his own, grandiloquently/ sty led The Grand Trunk Herald, which found its circulation among the officials and train-hands. A copy of it, creased and tattered, lies before me as I write. So the lad sold his wares, printed his toy newspaper, joked with his customers and fellows, and was apparently as practical a little youngster as one might meet with, intent only on turning an honest dollar and laying up a trifle for the proverbial rainy day, while under the bustling, prosaic exterior he hid a nature which was essentially that of a dreamer. Above the roar of the swaying trains, and the clatter of the cars, he heard all day the click of the telegraph instrument, which to him represented an illimitable opportunity ; and the message it spelt out ran somewhat in this wise: ‘ Some day you will be famous, Tom Edison. Some day you will rich, Tom Edison.’ To trace the career of Thomas A. Edison from his comparatively humble beginning as a newsboy on a Canadian railroad to his present position as the most widely known inventor of this or perhaps any other age, would be to retell a tale known by heart to Macaulay’s favourite schoolboy. Still, though the main road may. be well trodden, the side tracks yet possess some of the interests of the unfamiliar, and a long acquaintance with Mr Edison enables me, I think, to act as at least a trustworthy guide to those—there must be many—who would like a closer knowledge of ‘ The Wizard ’ than can be gained from occasional newspaper paragraphs. To give this glimpse of the actual man, no better method suggests itself to me than to take readers on the trip which I have so often made of late, and spend a day with the electrician in that wonderful laboratory of his at Orange, the secrets of which are kept so carefully guarded from the outside world. As the . train whirls us over the desolate New Jersey meadows, let me try and picture the man we are on our way to see, —a man of medium height, squarely built, and latterly somewhat inclined to amplitude of girth ; his long grayish hair is thrown back from a broad, intellectual forehead dominating a clean shaven face, which, with its mobile mouth and Dantesque contour, would be essentially that of a poet and dreamer, were it not for the twinkling, deep-set grey eyes, forever questioning, which bespeaks the keen, cool-headed, practical man of affairs. So here at least is a case in which the face is an index of the character, for it is this union of imagination and every-day shrewdness which has helped to make of Edison a discover as well as an inventor. The quality of nature is carried still further, and all sorts of whimsical contradictions are in him found side by side, and serve to form the sum of a character entirely lovable and absolutely individual. There is an-innate modesty about Edison ; yet this does not prevent, but rather accentuates, at times, the display of self-reliance on his own powers proceeding doubtless from the consciousness of unsurpassed achievement, which possesses the appearance rather than the substance of egotism. Only lately, to illustrate the former characteristic, we were talking of a recently published ‘autobiography.’ ‘Why don’t you write yours?’ asked I. ‘I could not,’ was the reply, given with evident sincerity, and in the almost boyish fashion of speech which is a part of him. ‘ Some fellows can, and I wish I could. But I haven’t the cheek!' And nothing would persuade him but that it would be the height of presumption on his part to talk to the public about himself. On the other hand, when talking about his work, he will plan Aladdin-like schemes, dependent solely on his own inventive powers, with a confidence which makes them' seem almost accomplished facts instead of theoretical anticipations.

Again, there may be pointed out the contrast between his simple, unostentatious mode of life, as well as his hatred of display, and his lavish extravagance on all that concerns his beloved scientific pursuits. 1 have seen him eating his noonday meal, carried to him in a basket, with a simplicity befitting the purse of one of his junior clerks, while sitting at a table in the library of his laboratory—a library which, in its artistic finishing, its size, and its appointments generally, would not be out of place in the capital of some wealthy State. So also, to an almost reckless heedlessness of money for money’s sake, he unites a genius for financing and for the appreciation of the pecuniary advantages of a speculation, which enabled him to truthfully declare once in my presence, that he had never in bis life lost money in any scheme into which he had ventured. I might go on indefinitely multiplying instances of these strange contradictions. I have mentioned Edison’s boyish habit of expression, and this unconventional juvenility is more than a mere habit of speech. There is a bieeziness of thought as well as manner about this gray-haired boy, who has made millions, of dollars with his brain alone as capital, and whose name is a household word among the nations. In bis soft, mellifluous voice, which in some inexplicable manner by its very tones affords a sad suggestion of the great misfortune which in late years lias afflicted Edison—his incieasing deafness—he is, when not immersed in some knotty problem, continually joking, telling humorous stories,or ‘chaffing’ his business associates or subordinates. By every one in his employ * The Old Man,’ as with affectionate familiarity he is universally

called, is loved as well as obeyed, and held as fellow as well as master. But while we have been chatting the train has sped across the meadows, has rattled through the busy city of Newark, has passed Menlo Park, where formerly stood the workshop of the wizard, and has touched at one after another of those trimly-kept and comfort-exhaling villages which, grouped together, are known as ‘The Oranges,’ and at the station of Orange proper our destination is reached. The day is fine and spring-like, and we, unencumbered by baggage, may easily walk along the bustling village highway and past the closely shaven lawns and quaint nineteenth-cen-tury echoes of by gone architecture, until we turn off at the quiet country road, some half mile down which we espy the huge but not altogethei ungainly pile of red brick with its succession of wings, thrown out like the teeth of some Brobdignaggian comb, and its aspiring round brick chim-ney-shaft. It looks more like some county institution than the private workshop of one scientific investigator. The main building, which faces the road, is fifty or sixty feet wide by about two hundred in length, and rises to the height of about four ordinary stories. To the left, as one faces it, stretch out the one-story wings, each of which houses a special department of research. Far to the rear rises the tall smoke tower, at the base of which are clustered'the low brick buildings containing the gigantic engine* which give life to the multitude of throbbing, pulsating machines on each floor of the edifice. : ■ r ' We touch the button of an electric wicket, and a bright-eyed boy comes in response to the** summons and gives us admittance to the carefully guarded precincts from which strangers are so jealously excluded, more, perhaps, from fear of the loss of time entailed by the presence of inquisitive sight-seers than from a desire for secrecy. Our entrance to the laboratory is made through an insignificant looking doorway, which admits us into a high room extending the whole width of the building, and about as long as it is wide. Thiough large openings at the furtherend are caught tantalizing glimpses of ponderous engine* and Leviathan driving wheels, while passing workmen, smoke-begrimed and oily of visage, suggest the machineshop rather than the scientist’s laboratory. But when weturn to the right and step into the library, we see at once that we are in no mere utilitarian factory. Here we are in the world of restful contemplation, the monastic peacefulness and repose being emphasized by the bustle of the work-a-day world which lies on the other side of the door. The library occupies that portion of the building which faces the roadway, and is about square in plan. On two of its sides it is lighted by tall semicircular-headed windows, which reach nearly up to the pine-panelled ceilings, with its deep coffers and sturdy cross-beams which stretch above our heads at the height of some forty feet or so from the polished parquet floor, bestrewn with soft rugs of those rich but quietly blended colourings which bespeak the Oriental loom. At regular intervals round the room bookcases of polished wood showing its natural grain are so arranged as to form convenient alcoves, each lit with its swinging incandescent electric lamps, easily adjustable by an ingenious device to any required height. Round three sides and midway between floor and ceiling, runs a gallery reached by a flight of steps in one corner, and here is repeated the same arrangement of bookcases and alcoves as prevails below. A substantial table, a couple of business-like writingdesks, and a sufficiency of comfortable chairs furnish the room, while in the centre, resting on a square of mosaic tiling sunk level with the floor, a mass of flowering shrubs and spreading palms give a delightful touch of tropical luxury to the noble apartment. Should the air outside be chilly, a couple of hickory logs blaze cheerfully in thecavernous open fire-place, with its old-fashioned brass dogs and smoke - encrusted chimney - throat. The elaborate mantelpiece which surmounts this is one of the architectural features of the place, its chief decorative effect being gained by an elaborately carved clock-dial, so intricately arranged that it can denote not only the time of day, but the direction of the wind and the day of the month as well. Here is the nucleus of a scientific library which in a very few years will probably be unequalled. It would doubtless be so already were there added to its shelves the marvellous collection, resulting from years of patient acquisition, now in the picturesque Queen Anne homewhich Edison has built for himself on a slope of the Orange Mountains. The books found here, however, are intended solely for the use of those employed in the laboratory, and a generous collection it is. To us, however, the most interesting volumes will doubtless be those which relate to the inventor himself, and they are many. Half a dozen shelves are occupied by scrap-books, neatly titled and indexed, which contain all the newspaper clippings of past years bearing in any way on Edison or his inventions. Here are the materials for that biography which must some day T be written, and curious enough some of it is. Here, for instance, is the history from day to day, from month to month, and from year to year, of the incandescent electric light, including the editorial articles in prominent scientific papers, and the statements from leading electricians to the effect that the whole thing was a fraud and humbug, and would never, could never, become a working reality. Thesearticles were written and these statements signed but a few' years ago, and to day probably the very rooms in which they were penned are lighted by that incandescent filament enclosed in its airless bulb which has laid the foundations of its inventor’s fortunes. Here too is a French novel, pasted into the book as it appeared in its feuilleton form at the bottom of succeeding issues of the leading Parisian newspaper; and the marvellous hero of this blood curdling romance, the scenes of which are laid in a New York possible only to the imagination of a French novelist, is Thomas A. Edison. Other Edisoniana there are, too, in the shape of several bulky volumes which consist merely of the drawings and specifications of patents granted to Edison, reaching back as far as the first ‘ stock-ticker,’ and ending with the latest improvement on the phonograph. One can scarcely believe that one man’s brain can have conceived this multitude of devices, some of them showing merely the ingenuity of the mechanician, while others betiay the influence of the harnessed imagination of the latter day scientist. The number of patents granted him runs well up into the hundreds. Edison himself will tell us, as he has told me more than once, that one invention may represent the result of thousands of careful experiments, each dealing with a complete theory, first conceived, and then laboriously demonstrated to be incorrect, until at last comes the one theory which corresponds with the facts, and, Eureka ! the inventor isrepaid for all his toil.

Now we have waited lone enough, and the grinning lad who has taken out cards (I know not why, but all the lads in Edison’s employ seem in a state of perennial good humour and happiness) returns with an answer. Perhaps the ‘ Old Man ’ is engaged on some intricate problem of invention, or the improvement of some detail of an invention, in a remote nook of the building. In such a case it is as much as anyone’s life is worth to disturb him. Or suppose, more happily, as more rarely, he has an hour or two to spare, and will himself start us on our tour of investigation, laughing and joking the while, but with an air of allowable pride in the completeness of the establishment, which is charming in its frank ingenuousness. Stepping out of the library, we find ourselves in the room, already described, through which we entered. A closer examination shows that it is divided into narrow aisles running the width of the building, by a series of hmh shelves partitioned off somewhat after the fashion of bookcases, so as to form large pigeon holes, while the lower portions are occupied with nests of neatly labelled drawers. There are thousands of pigeon - holes and hundreds of drawers, and in them is to be found as heterogeneous an assortment of articles as can well be imagined. This is the ‘ stock-room,’ bnt the stock therein contained would supply more than half the shops in Christendom with a sample at least of each of their particular goods. The drawers, some of which are marked with half a dozen names as guides to the varied contents, are filled with such strange things as seal, squirrel, bear, sable, fox, marten, ermine, and beaver skins ; tight rolls of the furs or hairy coverings of even rarer animals ; feathers of every bird that flies or swims ; snake skins, fish skins ; hides, raw and tanned ; bones, teeth, and tusks of all sorts of creatures, including hippopotami, narwhals, whales, rhinoceri, and sharks ; minerals, ores, crystals, and precious stones (cut and in the rough) ; barks and sections of the trunk of every species of tree; bundles of dried grasses; dried fruits, nuts and beans, salts, sugars; grains sueh as wheat and maize, both whole and crashed to flour ; gums and spices, some of the former so rare that the grains are kept in little folded papers such as diamond merchants use. In short, the whole of nature seems to have been laid under contribution to stock these long, deep drawers. In the pigeon holes

above are manufactured articles, the hundreds and hundreds of drugs, chemical solutions, and essences being contained in small glass vials, each plainly ticketed with the name of the Contents. There are rolls of woven stulls, sheet metals, and all sorts of papers, gums, and linings. Then there are bits of machinery, bolts, screws, nuts,angle-irons; toolssuch as hammers, vises, drills ; while blocking up the passage ways are such out-of-place looking objects as ice cream freezers, wheelbarrows, pumps and so on. Everything one can think of, from a packet of needles or a toothpick, to a sledge-hammer or a sewingmachine, can here be found. You turn in amazement to Mr Edison, and his eyes twinkle as he replies to your unspoken query. ‘ I have tried,’ says he, ‘to gather together here samples of every material to be found in the habitable world, and I think I have succeeded ’ ; and then, perhaps, having just whetted your curiosity, he hurriedly excuses himself, turns his visitors over to one of his assistants, and plunging up stairs again is presumably soon immersed in his beloved occupations. Whichever of his assistants

may have been deputed as guide, you will surely find him cultivated, courteous, an acknowledged expert in one or more branches of scientific research, and proudly interested in the •establishment of which he forms a part. • It is one of Mr Edison’s peculiarities,’ he will tell you, ‘ to push on with an experiment or investigation when he has once begun, without pause or break, hardly stopping to bolt a morsel of food or snatch a few hours sleep. Now, in the course of these investigations, he often finds that he needs some material which in the ordinary way he would find it nearly impossible to procure, and in his early days he was from this cause subjected to much inconvenience and delay. Now all this is obviated, and in five minutes he can have anything in reason that he wants.’ ‘ But how can he ever want such weird things as sharks’ teeth or rhinoceros-horn !' you ask. ‘ They are reminiscent of the witches’ caldron in “ Macbeth.” ’

‘ That shows that you don’t know what queer things electricians use,’ replies our modern Virgil. ‘During the progress of the experiments with the incandescent electric light, for instance, nearly everything one can think of was tried as a primary mateiial from which to form the delicate carbon filament whose incandescence is the source of light. Finally, as perhaps you know, shreds of one particular variety of bamboo were found to give the most gratifying results ; and there, by the way, you can see a few bales of the very reeds from which those strips are cut. Again, the delicate needle, which, affixed to the under side of the vibrating diaphragm of the phonogram, indents the smooth, revolving surface of the waxen cylinder, had to be formed of some material possessing peculiar properties of elasticity and rigidity. Scores of the most unlikely substances, both organic and inorganic, natural and artificial, were tried before the right one was hit upon. And so it goes with all the little details of electric appliances.’ But there is too much to see to linger long in this old and new curiosity shop, and we pass through it to the farther end of the building, and are standing in the lower machine shop amid a bewildering loar of whirling wheels and swiftly speeding leather bands. Grimy workmen are hammering and chipping grotesque looking castings of iron and steel at benches placed in front of the wide windows, while all around others are directing the movements of enormous machines, which seem almost like sentient beings themselves, as they perform their allotted tasks, planing, boring, cutting, and shaping the hardest metal, as a carpenter plays

with a block of soft pine. This shop, we are told, is devoted to the manufacture of the heavier parts of sueh machinery as may be necessary in forming new models of electric motors and so forth. There are machines here, and workmen who can handle them, capable of turning out a monster locomotive or an eighty-ton gun. We clamber up a steep staircase, and find ourselves in another room as large as the one we have just left, and, like that, filled with the busy hum of revolving wheels overhead and clanking machinery below, only in this case everything is of a daintier, lighter make and appearance. This is the shop where instruments of precision and all the more delicate portions of the mechanical work are turned out. More wonderful in many ways are these mechanical aids to human power, for these iron and brass levers and cog-wheels seem capable of doing all that man can do, and more. In this shop can be made the most delicate instruments possible,— machines so tiny that they would not outbalance a nickel placed in the opposing scale ; while below, so our Virgil tells us, motors weighing many tons can be just as easily manufactured. Here are workmen, evidently of highly nervous organisation, filing and polishing the almost imperceptible needles, which, when inserted in their proper place in the phonograph, will ‘ keep track ’ even of a woman’s tongue ; and others are putting together the nicely proportioned and delicate brass work which goes to make the rest of the ‘ talk recorder.’ Others again, are finishing oil' to an exquisite smoothness the surfaces of the wax cylinders on which the record'is made, and later on we shall find more than one workman busy casting these same cylinders by pouring the queerly odoriferous melted wax from a ladle into brass moulds. The moulds look not unlike a row of greasy rockets, but are of highly ingenious construction, specially adapted for their peculiar task. Virgil, however, warns us that we must not linger, and we are soon poking our heads into large, light, and airy rooms, where spectacled men in their shirt-sleeves are draughting, from the rough sketches of Mr Edison, carefully plotted plans and elevations of inventions of greater or less importance, while others are pursuing scientific investiga-

tions with all the careful laboriousness ami patience of enthusiasts. Here, surrounded by cabinets of minerals, saucers of acids, scales able to detect the variation in weight of a single hair, and clever magnetic contrivances, are a couple of investigators prying into the affinities of vaiions ores, having in view the perfection of the novel ore separator which will be Edison’s next gift to the commercial world. In yet another room interesting experiments in electro-metallurgy are being conducted, and in great jars of evil smelling liquid, phonograph cylinders, covered with the microscopic dots and dashes which are the visible memorial of sound, are receiving deposits of various metals. The outcome of all this tentative work will be the still further perfecting of the already patented scheme for limitless reduplication of phonographic records. Then we are shown a larger apartment, wherein are arranged in frames thousands of the glass globes in which, when exhausted of all air, incandescent filaments will become a source of grateful light. They are undergoing the exhausting process under the careful gaze of sundry other assistants ; and, numerous as they are, they will be chiefly used for experimental purposes, those for the use of the public being prepared elsewhere. A long, low room is devoted to testing the average ‘ lives ’ of these experimental lamps, and presents a curious appearance, with its hundreds of brilliant lights covering the ceiling in closely parallel lines,—a firmament of tangible stars. We are told here, that the ideal lamp, for the realization of which all these investigators are constantly striving, will burn for an indefinite period, and, save when it meets with an accident, will not require renewal for years and years. Not the least interestingof theselittlescientific headquarters is the photogra phicstudio, under lhesuperintendenceofagood-lookingyoung artist, who, like every one else about the place, is refreshingly enthusiastic about his own speciality. He has an establishment which a leading piofessional * knight of the camera ’ might envy, for he has one lens which enables him to use plates about the size of an ordinary newspaper, and so prevents the necessity of enlarging. Some of his exterior views betray the skilled artist in their picturesqueness and the cleverness with which the one point of view which is the right one has been taken advantage of. Hanging on the walls are pictures of inventions ami machines in their various stages of development, and this little gallery forms a fitting complemen to the scrap books we looked over

down stairs ; for here is the old 1 barrel organ ' phonograph of ten years ago side by side with the perfect little instrument of to day, while the electric-light lamp is shown in its infancy as well as in its maturity. Up still higher we mount, and come to a large, airy, welllit room directly over the library. One end of this is occupied by a rostrum, in front of which benches are disposed. This is the lecture room, and here at least once a week the staff of assistants and their friends listen to a lecture on some topic of practical interest to them, delivered either by one of the heads of departments or by some acknowledged expert from the outer scientific world. These lectures which are given at Mr Edison's sole expense, are viewed by hint simply as an indirect means of increasing the efficiency and the enthusiasm of his corps of helpers. At Virgil’s suggestion we waste no time here, but follow him dowtt the winding staircases and past the hive of busy workers, until we have reached the ground floor, and are in the outer air once more, though our travels are not yet over. There are still the outbuildings to be investigated, and before we begin we have to visit the engine-house, and admire the powerful giant with his tireless arms turning for ever, like Ixion, the huge wheel which represents the motive power of all those whirring machines in the great throbbing building. We deliver up our watches to a swarthy bandit, who grins cheerfully as lie relieves us of them, and this act of spoliation accomplished we visit the electlie motors, which furnish electricity not only to the countless lamps in the laboratory itself, but also to a large portion of the town of Orange and to the larger suburban residences hereabouts. When we have wondered at these, and have been pleased like children at the sight of the constant stream of manycoloured sparks which fly off at various places with Mephistophelian energy, we prevail on the dusky bandit to render up to us once more our time-pieces, and emerge once more to take a peep at the ten-feet-long astronomical telescope, which has its little observatory all to itself, set up in a convenient part of the grounds. Then we visit the four one-story buildings, which I have already described as running out at right angles to the main edifice. In one of these is (housed the large ore separator, which has been above referred too. It is a ponderous affair, with the cruellooking crusher attached which grinds up the big masses of hematite and quartz as though they' were loaf sugar, and then passes the pulverized result by means of an endless chain of little buckets to the hopper, down which the metallic stream falls, to separate into two minor currents ere it reaches the ground,—the sheep, or pure ore, on one side : the goats, or refuse rock, on the other. The next building is devoted to storage purposes, and contains naught of special interest. <if the two remaining, one, which is full of noisome fumes, is devoted to the chemist of the establishment and all his works. Here, far from his fellows, he is allowed to make all the horrible compounds, with their still more horrible smells, he pleases, and so presumably enjoys the closest approach to happiness a chemist can know, and varies the monotony of existence by an occasional explosion. Ths last building is in some respects the most interesting of all. It contains some of the most marvellous instruments of precision to be found in the world, for here are to be found those ingenious arrangements for accurately measuring electricity and ligh , which are known as galvanometers

and photometers. With these the strength of a current or the brilliancy of a light can be absolutely measured to the minutest fraction, and so delicate are the galvanometers that even a bunch of keys carried in one’s pocket as one stands near them will disarrange their exquisite sensibilities and render them useless. In this room too are various examples of magnetic coils, one of which, an innocent looking affair about a foot in length, but containing many miles of the finest silk covered wire, can throw a spark twelve inches long, and kill a man or half a dozen men in a fraction of an instant. Other curious contrivances theie are also, including a mechanical calculator, which will add up bewildering rows of figures, subtract and divide with the precision of a. normal schoolmaster, by the mere turning of a crank. So we have ‘ made the rounds,’ anti, entering once more the laboratory proper, may chance to meet Edison himself, his labours over, starting homewards. He. is as full of animal spirits as a lad released from his Latin lesson, and we stroll with him up the hill, and spend a few minutes with him in the library of the magnificent home, standing in the centre of its trimly kept lawns, ami shaded by its leafy trees, which he has built for himself away from the bustle of New York, the noise of which city he declares drives him almost insane, when for business reasons he lias to visit it. Then, as time and trains wait not even for us, we take our way to the station, through the dusky evening shadows of the country roads, and wag our heads wisely as we think, first, of the little newsboy ciying his wares but a comparatively few years ago, and then of that marvellous building we have just left, the weekly running expenses of which are far up in the thousands, and which was built and is maintained simply as the private workshop of one man —surely the grandest workshop in the whole world. SIU GEORGE GREY ANI» THE 1-HONOGHAPH. Recently, when Professor Archibald had concluded his exhibition of the phonograph in Auckland and was on the point of departing, it was suggested by Mr Mitchell to Mr Upton, the Mayor, that the opportunity should be taken of preserving for future generations a record of the utterances of Sir George Grey. Mr Upton thereupon addressed a letter to Sir George Grey, expressing to him the idea. Of this the latter thought fit to approve, and a day was accordingly appointed on which Sir George Grey Professor Archibald, and Mr Upton met together at the studio of Mr Hanna, in Queen street, and enacted a cere

mouy to whie|i posterity will look back with deep interest. Sir George Grey, I’iofessoi Archibald, and Mr I'pton each in turn repeated to the phonograph the remarks cited below, which were duly recorder! by the instrument. The cylinder was then transmitted to the Public Librarian to be preserved there for verification in the future, accompanied by photographs of the scrrwcc, an illustration of which we reproduce by express permission of Mr Hanna. The following are the phonograms :—

sir George Grey spoke: •Auckland, February 24th. 1891Citizens of Auckland. You are amongst the heralds who introduce. and the rulers who must guide and direct a new age. and who must establish an as yet unknown nation. Back upon you will have to look a new race and millions of people. The duty devolving on you is a great one. With humility, yet with fortitude. pursue your task. Falter not! march resolutely on, with truth and justice upon cither hand of you. with the love of mankind as your guiding star, your duty to your Maker as the staff oh which you lean. Then will God bless you. and render you a blessing to the ages yet to come. —GEORGE GREY.' . Professor Archibald spoke : ‘Mr Mayor,—l have much pleasure in handing over to you this phonogram containing Sir George Grey's message to the citizens of Auckland. I am, yours very truly, Douglas Archibald.’ The Mayor spoke: ‘I thank you. Mr Archibald, for the phonogram containing Sir George Grey’s words, which you have just presented to me for the citizens of Auckland, and I shall deposit ft in the Public Library, which owes so much to Sir George Grey’s generosity.—J. H. Upton.’