to be effected, until the golden revelations of 1851-53 changed everything. One quaint-looking two-storied house, nearly opposite the Birmingham Hotel, was the "den" of John Pascoe Fawkner, and from the balcony in front, the old lion might be seen koo-tooing to his friends, and grinning at his foes as they passed by—and it was "Johnny's" lot to have friends and foes in abundance. Here the "oldest inhabitant" died, and the building turned into a toy-emporium. Mac's Hotel, nearly opposite Webb Street, was another very remarkable house, and cannot well be passed over in any historical reference to Smith Street. It was put up by a Scotchman, but from what ilk this special Mac hailed I cannot now say. Though the Mac has passed away, the hotel remains, and if its unwritten memoirs could be compiled, many strange yarns could be twisted out of them. It was the great focus of many of the agitations by which the Collingwoodites used to be convulsed. It was the head quarters of Stumperdom, for there was an open space in front, and an open space in rear, where the so-called great mass meetings used to be held—and stumping exhibited in perfection. Those gatherings used to eclipse the Eastern Market ones of after years, for this was the grand training ground of the agitators; and it was quite a treat to hear the Dons, the M'Minns, the Murphys, the Osbornes, and the Scotchmeres of the age exercising themselves. A roaring trade in "rum" and "two ales" used to be driven at the tavern bar where the "calls" were incessant on a stump night. Times, however, have changed, and there has been a change of venue in the meetings in consequence of the stonewallers and bricklayers having eradicated the stumps; and "Mac's" has since had to run through the usual vicissitudes of modern taverns, and take to its bosom as "lord and master," the good, the bad, and the indifferent. Presuming upon the consent of whoever may now be doing the Boniface, let us (metaphorically) ascend to the roof of the hotel, and behold some of the surroundings of the neighbourhood of old Melbourne, and note some of the changes they have passed through. The "flat" has undergone a transformation at the hands of the builder, and active enterprise and thriving industry go together. Glance along the sinuous Yarra's verge from bridge to bridge, and you behold factories and breweries, and spacious hotels, and miles of streets, big and little, built upon and kerbed and macadamised, where a few years ago mobs of blacks, and flocks of sheep, and the herdsmen and their cattle used to roam about. There is Studley Park, looking well enough to-day, but it was positively grand in the primitive times, when it was the wild bush, and free from the improving touches of civilization. It was one time rented by John Hodgson, who let it out as a grazing paddock at so much per head per week. But Hodgson went the way of all flesh, and his place was held by Mr. Thomas Halfpenny, as Government Ranger, until he retired in 1887. The Park is now a place of public recreation. This is the same "Halfpenny" who was once thought to have risked his life by camping in Collins Street in 1836. Possibly in his solitary park rambles he often sighs for the never-to-return days when, though but a "Halfpenny," he managed to turn into himself many a penny, shilling and pound in the "William Tell," one of the oldest of hostelries, which once stood in Collins Street, near the Queen Street corner, on portion of the present £60,000 site of the English and Scottish Chartered Bank. History tells us the Yarra Falls in Melbourne, the original crossing-place for stock, was dangerous, and once upon a time, twenty-six head were drowned there; and great was the joy of Gardiner when he found the "Falls" near Studley Park much safer for his sheep and bullocks. A Mr. Dight had a large paddock here, now cut up for sale with a square out of the centre for the use of the residents. These "Falls" were a favourite haunt of the aborigines, and a great fishing station for the early citizens, for herring was taken in large numbers at certain periods of the year.
The laying of the foundation-stone of the first Johnston Street Bridge was quite an event in East Collingwood many years ago. The day was fine, there was an immense gathering, and after the performance of the usual ceremonies, a sumptuous spread was served at the residence of Mr. J. Orr in the neighbourhood. There was a grand procession too, and Major John Hodgson, at the head of the Volunteers, and Mr. J. J. Moody, the Town Clerk, who wielded great Civic authority over the civilian element, were worth looking at. The vicinity of the bridge is now much altered—some of it for the worse and some very much for the better. In the bend of the river, to the south, were the grounds and villa of St. Heliers, the residence of Mr. Edward Curr, one of the ablest and best known, though not most popular, men of his day. St. Heliers in course of time, disappeared, and a worthier substitute occupies its place in the Convent of the nuns of the Good Shepherd with "the tinkling of the silver bell, and the Sisters' holy
