A VISIT TO MELBOURNE AFTER MANY YEARS.

Bay of Plenty Times, Volume XIV, Issue 1795, 31 January 1885, Page 4

A VISIT TO MELBOURNE AFTER MANY YEARS.

Bx Obaw Linn.

THEN AND NOW.

Thirty years ago, when I was young, Melbourne rejoiced in comparatively so few good birldings that strangers to the Imperial City of the South asked, naturplly enough : What is it ■we are cpUed upon to admire ? Is it the absence of all good houses? If *iot, point us out the good ones. This was right enough, before the first great blue stone structures were erected, such as Mr Bichard Goldborough's colossal bluestone store at the corner of !Flind*er's and Market streets, and dough, and Oo.'s (who were rival wool brokers) in Bourke street West, £and Mr William Degrare's great flour-mills in Hinders Lane East, and Westgarth Koss and Co.'s stores in Market street, aforementioned*, and , a few more that it would be superfluous to mention, were considered the great buildings of this now far-famed city. But now a change has come o'er the spirit of the dream, and the wonderful constructions of the past are entirely absorbed in the creations of the present. ' Collins street is now en masse with with marvellous banks, insurance offices, public companies (of course of unlimited liability), grand hotels, such as Scott's, opposite the Western Market, and a remarkably good hotel it is, fitted up with every conceivable contrivance that the mind of man could conceive, or that art could suggest. But never mind, I must stop; this sounds too much like advertising, a subject, by-the-way, that I mean /to approach presently. I will just mention a few more of the buildings, only in order to "chow the difference past and present. The Bank of New.Zealand, now just completed, stands upon the site of the old Union -Bank of

Australia, at the corner of Queen and

Collins street, southern corner, the - bank that was so well managed for so many years by Mr Blackwood. The late gentleman was the brother of Mr Blackwood of the firm of -Messrs McMeckan and Blackwood, the great

ship-owners, of Australia, who supplied our first steamers (of any importance) -t— -to New Zealand, such as, in the early days of the Otago gold rush, were the Aldinga, commanded by Captain John McLean, who earned an uneuphonious soubriquet from the way in which he used to rush the old Duncan Hoyle, from Geelong up the Yarra. Every craft in the river had to get out of the way, or be run over — law (?) There was no law then, or, if there was, it was'safer to avoid it than appeal to it, as indeed it might be said of the present time in some respects. Law, as I once heard an old litigant affirm,

"is the most expensive luxury I ever ■Hgindulged in in my life — absurd exHVtravajgances and my son's idiotsies are • nothing 1 in comparison to my bills of |T costs!" So the lightermen and the f captains of schooners and brigantines got out of Jack's way, and he always came up to the old Queen's Wharf without any. trouble, narrow as 'the dear old Yarra of past days was. Ah, so altered now! But Jack is a thing of the past. Of course there are plenty of dashing, spirited captains of ships, but the times we live in do not allow them to be such as historical Jack was.

•\. There were several celebrities who came to Melbourne in those days ; amongst others, Captain Brag, of the Empress of the Seas, a vessel belonging to the White Star line — a line so peculiarly unfortunate as to have for agent Mr George Francis Train, a gentleman at any rate, ■ '""BotorJogfif -afne is not celebrated, and the Terence between notoriety and . celebrity nowadays is not much. Nelson was a celebrated man, though he died, without a copper, after ; crowning England with more glory. • Mackay, the fluky silver man, is also celebrated, I suppose, though as for the glory — well, anyhow, a man has' a right to his luck._ So thought Captain •■- Brag, for he scorched up the Empress just as he got outside Melbourne ' Heads, and ran the blazing wreck ashore. There was an inquiry, of; course, and' Mr Albert Bead, that clever ' Police Court solicitor, pulled the case through the Marine Court, to Bis own infinite credit and profit, and to the clearance of Captain Brag, who ~ -went Home, and was made a ship's .^juisband of (whatever that may mean), "but was never sent to sea again. Strange, the fatality which attended the vessels of the White Star line. I myself saw the Prince of the Seas r burned at the Sandridge pier. They '<■ cut her adrift, and she floated out into 'the bay a blazing insurance. Mr. i Honey, chief officer of Green's Besult Vthe ship that was won in a bet, a run Home from China against another '-■' ship, winner to take both^ ships), his popguns and fired into her. • He might as well have tried to sink the rock of Gibraltar with such material. So the, Prince burned splendidly and satisfactorily, and added one more treasure to the deep. 1 The Sovereign of the Seas followed suit, likewise afflicted by the opposite ■element to that which floated her, and - wh&n Mr_George Francis Train, of i Flinders street West, agent for the "White Star line, was asked to account for these general conflagrations, he re-*! marked, in his singularly happy ?: manner : "H ships don't pay, my boy, & what's the use of keeping 'em afloat !" $ This gentleman left Victoria for lS^&merica (his native country) for a P%erfectly good and consistent reason— ft at least I expect he thought so. BSfe:Then- there was Forbes, of the fevSfefc'o Polo, afterwards of the Schomjltsergy that grand new ship the bold Kcaptain ran ashore just outside Port il^ipiiHeads-^hat bold captain whom

the same clever Mr Albert Read solicitor, defended, and got off, hi course. *

But it would take too long to tell all these yarns, and this is not intended as a history of Victoria,. I only state these things to show in what a careless and, indeed, reckless way f #e allowed things to go on in the past, and shall content myself with an observation or two referring to the political position of the period, and my contemplation a few weeks ago of what was once the eastern market, Great Bourke street, but is now a block of solid buildings formed into squares and arcades, with every conceivable industry under the sun in full force, brought to my mind the expression of the great poet —

" Can such, sbings be and overcome us like a summer cloud." 1 uttered this as I gazed in amazement at the shops, hotels, theatres, arcades, etc., etc.

" What ! I said, you don't mean to say that this is old Paddy's Market?"

"Fact." "And where are Osbourne the Patrio and his crew ?"

" Gone—dead — things of the past.'

Poor Paddy's Market ! Poor Patriots ! The hucksters stalls are gone ; the patriots are gone too. How often the one departs with the other. Poor Osbourne! I believe you were tolerably honest, but you were such, a character. You did so envy everyone that happened to be above you, no matter whether he was above you by actually earned exaltality or was so by accident. Anyone who occupied a better position than yourself in the world had, according to your account, robbed you of something — which something, like all good patriots, you never made out very clearly, even to the rabble who listened to you. And, Mr Osbourne, dead and gone, like the place in which you used to hold forth, you did incalculable mischief in your day. You were no Eienzi ; you were no redeemer of "wrongs ; you were simply a humbug, gifted with the gab, and you wanted to live upon the poor, simple gulls of the people without doing any work, when you know that labour was your birthright ; but you are gone — requiescat iii pace. You, likewise, most . 'noble Don Stonemason, member for Oollingwood, tobacconist, hotelkeeper, and patriot, M L.0., belong to the past. - Never again will tiuch a fellow as you mount | honest John . Oleiland's balcony — the Albion Hotel, in Bourke street — and .stop the traffic by addressing the people. No, those days are gone.

"Gentlemen," said you from the balcony, " I come before you like a Brutus, nofc to account for deeds that I have done, but for deeds that I will do."

Brutus did not address the Eoman citizens as gentlemen — he knew better. He said " Friends, Komans, countrymen." But you wanted to be something nature never intended you to be, and you got it. Alas ! poor Yorick ; you could not carry the honor you won, and it killed you. To you I say " Best in^ peace; you did little harm, but you might have done much."

Pass we on to the great house of the Senate — finished now so far as the architecture will admit. It is a great massive building, but as for beauty — well, the less said about it the better. Its chamber of altercation resounds no more with the voices of Aspinal, the wit of the House — poor Aspinal, every t one's friend but his owji, about whom' so many good stories have been told — the Sheridan of the colonial age — gone. And the ponderous " Docter" — " Docter". Evans, the first PostmasterGeneral, member for Eichmond, the man who kept order in the early Assembly — gone. O'Shaunnessy, the great John — member for Kilmore, the Irish patriot of days gone bye, who filled all the Government offices with his own and his wife's relations ; Sir John, you whose full length portrait hangs in the picture gallery of the public library (badly painted too), are all gone.- Great Sir John, rich Sir John, poor Sir John, good-bye. But our Haines, who succeeded you — Doctor Haines, gentleman Haines, the grand Prime Minister who kicked all the incapables out of the departments of the Government, made a clean sweep of all the Tiff raff — where are you ? What, gone also ? Xes. "Well — yes — you are, kind heart and honorable gentleman, gone to that bourne from which no traveller returns. Do not wish it, doctor ; you must have better company where you are.

And Archibald the Keen — the satirist — is he a thing of the past ? Heaven forbid; Sir Archy lives, moves, breathes, and has his being. No mistake about Sir Archy, only as he happens to be alive the less I say about the author of " Policeman X" the better, for when a great barrister condescends to write fun look out for breezes.

How for Ireland ? Say nothing; he said so much himself it is quite unnecessary to say more. But he was a good hearted fellow, if he did fall foul of a judge's property.

And the great Sir Charles — the arch traitor, the man who cost England so much "before she let him loose on her well-beloved Colony of Australia? Ah ! Sir Charles, knighted at last ? You, Gavan Duffy, where are you? With the blest ? Never mind.

Dear Jones — oh, my Jones, my tailor, my f Jones of dear old dead " Marcus 'Clark's " denunciations — what, you still live in spite of the "Peripatetic Philosopher?" Live then; history knowß you — knows a

tailor. • Live, Jones; be an eternal Jones, and make your name famous, you have made it notorious enough. You may go.

Ah, Wilson Gray, where are. you, you mild volcano ? What, they would not let you live in Victoria, not even

after your helping them through the mess of the Ballarat riots ? Stuff ! What, when it was all over and you were a quiet little barrister trying (and failing) to practice in the County Court. Oh, rubbish, don't tell me they kicked you out of Victoria — you, the. great friend of George Henry Batten. Did they? and what happened, eh ? Came to New Zealand and waa made a judge* So much for New Zealand, so little for Wilson Gray. Is he dead ? asked a friend the other day. Ask history, I replied. And Berry. I approach you so tenderly, oh my South Yarra grocer of the olden times. Oh, Graham, my grocer, do you remember .that tenth of December on which I refused your polite invitation. It is a long time ago, Berry, but it was like your audacity. At the time you said you -would make me pay for my refusal ; possibly, but I will positively assert you never made me pay my bill (grocer's bill, you understand). Dear Berry, how about young Edwards, the "Collingwood Chicken," — the solicitor who had a history, you know ? He • did well enough for Collingwood when he was elected ; but no, you must come out of your grocer's shop and oust him. Now, Berry, listen to me. You are a very good grocer ; your figs are— in boxes, your tea is — in chests, your piokles are as unadulterated as yourself, your bottle license w&s never questioned, your family are and always were independent of you ; you know that — no one better. What a nice, quiet, happy home you had in South Yarra, and yet you would not be contented. No, you must go into Parliament, and you did, and a pretty mess you have made of it, my grocer. For one thin/? amongst others you have lost my bill — I never intend to pay that, so there now, come ; for- another thing you started a protective policy which has thrown Victoria back half a century in the scroll of fame — fame being read, in a commercial sense, and you have brought upon yourself the condemnation of every man who cares for the benefit of the colony ; you have crammed, jammed, bamboozled, and placed into the offices of the Government all your own and your wife's relations, as public records will testify ; and now you can depart, Mr Graham Berry, without the chance of the twopenny-halfpenny honor of colonial knighthood. The thought of niy old grocer did very much annoy me when I drove through South Yarra, and saw that upon the site of the old shop at the corner of Chapel street and the Gardeners' Creek road a great place of business had been erected. I fancied something was wrong-vout of gear, so to speak. I wanted Mr Graham Berry to come to the shop door, as he did years ago —

1857 — and say " Good evening, sir." But 1857 is a very different thing to 1884 j but it jars for all that* Never mind, Berry, you have toon-, whatever your game was, and the Colony has paid the cost— and you too for that matter.

With one more notice I have done with the past, and will come to the present. The old Albion, in Bourke street, kept by genial John Cleeland, from which the Ovens coach used to start daily at 12 o'clock. How we used to look for the six-horse team of greys, ■standing there, waiting for the inevitable all aboard, and at last it came from the best driver that ever cracked a whip. " All aboard ! Let them go, William." And those six greys dashed down Bourke street, and swept round the Post Office corner of Elizabeth street at a pace that cleared everything out of their way. The name of the driver was Edward Devine — commonly known as " Cabbage-tree Ned."