dog, a hanger-on at the barracks, who used to take it into his head to remain with the guard as company. This night he was out with them, and, as the sequel showed, probably the only rational and sober individual of the lot. A shedful of salt junk required for convict rations was also destroyed. A second version I have heard of this extraordinary affair is that there was no circular hole in the door; but an opening at the bottom intervened between the door and the floor; and that the blacks got some of the reeds, and, fastening them by the end sufficiently long to reach across the guard-room to the fire, ran them under the door, and thus set fire to the place. I have received both accounts from two gentlemen still alive in Melbourne, and whose veracity is beyond question; but with one or the other, memory in dealing with an event of fifty years ago, may be unwittingly at fault. However, of the burning of the place by the Aboriginal sheep thieves, there can be no possible doubt, as well as that all the black incendiaries escaped, except the fellow so gallantly "dogged" in his flight by the "unrum'd" and wakeful Newfoundlander, who responded to the unaristocratic cognomen of "Billy."
Dust in Melbourne is no new nuisance, and, like the hot winds of old, the dust storms were such as are seldom equalled in modern times. Of course, there is more traffic now to kick up a dust, but as a counter-blast the streets are well macadamized, and the footways asphalted and flagged. Though there was not much walking, or tramping, or carting through the streets forty or fifty years ago, the dust was in such thick layers from the drying up of the winter slush and mud, that, when a stiff wind came on in the dry weather, it was a "blinder" with a vengeance. A singular instance, the effect of a dust-hurricane, occurred on the 29th January, 1839. The morning was fiercely hot, and the wind freshened about noon. At 2 p.m. an immense cloud of dust swept along from the north over the small town, and for more than five minutes an almost total darkness prevailed. There was a cluster of three buildings—one a blacksmith's forge nearly opposite the present Post-office in Elizabeth Street; and after the storm had passed away, two of these were levelled with the ground, and the forge was reduced to ashes. Luckily the inmates of the two tenements were not at home at the time; but the disciple of Vulcan, in trying to save his bellows and belongings, had a narrow escape. All he rescued was his anvil, because it was fireproof. His name was Blair, and he was a tradesman of good repute and much liked. A few of the townspeople started a subscription to enable him to re-open the forge, but from the limited population of the time it could not be a very remunerative movement. The captain of a schooner which arrived in port the following morning, declared that he had observed indications of the dust twenty miles out at sea.
Towards the middle of the year a two-storied store, occupied by Mr. J. M . Chisholm, was destroyed by a fire, as to the origin of which there was a good deal of mysterious gossip. All, however, that was ever publicly known was that a fire broke out in the place, which was speedily burned down, and both building and stock were insured for an amount that amply covered any losses sustained. Mr. Chisholm was a prominent townsman in Melbourne, and for some time thereafter, the Chisholm establishment continued in a re-built condition on the same frontage in Collins Street, where the recent fashionable and popular emporium of Messrs. Alston and Brown stood, but now bears the historic, and somewhat pretentious name of "Rothschild Chambers."
In 1840 there was a small shop at the north-eastern corner of Queen and Collins Streets, kept by Mr. Hart, a member of the Jewish persuasion; and young Hart having suddenly dropped dead, the same night (in compliance with a Jewish custom) Messrs. M. Cashmore and J. Fonsaker sat up as watchers with the corpse. The building was single storied, and in the midst of their vigil, the watchers were astounded by the concern taking fire and blazing about their ears. Cremation was not a recognised mode of sepulture with them, and to rescue the body from such an unearthly fate, they had to carry it away on their joined arms to the opposite corner, then unbuilt upon; they then hurried back to extinguish the fire, in which they partially succeeded.
The First Large Fire in Melbourne.
The first extensive conflagration occurred on Sunday, 2nd October, 1842, at the residence of Dr. Clutterbuck, one of the first medicoes who settled in that now fashionable doctors' quarter, Collins Street East. It was a comfortable, English built, wooden villa, erected a little westward of the present Melbourne
