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out of school he was in a constant state of liquidation at the nearest grog-shop. Corporal punishment he abhorred—possibly through dearly-acquired experience. H e was never known to cane a young delinquent, and his softness was appreciated accordingly. There was a publican in town named Halfpenny, frequently patronised by Penny, and it was a jocular saying of the latter, that, so long as the two abideth therein, Melbourne could not run out of coppers, for she would always possess, at least, a " Penny and a half-penny." This flash of humour he considered to be a most brilliant effort of genius, and it was never for an hour off his tongue. T h e old boy did not live long, for 1840 saw him peacefully stowed away in the then thinly-tenanted cemetery. In everything except tippling, the antithesis of Penny was a birch-winder named Jack MackCormack, w h o cultivated young ideas in a cabin in Little Bourke Street, rear of the reserve intended for a Post-office. B y no means so good a teacher as Penny, this fellow, if sparing the rod means hating the child, was the most affectionate temporary protector that could be found, for he punished more than he taught, and his "leathering" was so kept up, that he got to be commonly hailed as " Whack," in lieu of " M a c k " Cormack. H e was a big, burly, uncouth Irishman, m u c h given to "tall talk" and " long drinks." H e was a Wexfordian, and when in his cups would treat his hearers to highly-spiced, but slightly inaccurate versions of the great '98 rebel battle of Vinegar Hill, where he in his hobbledehoyhood fought in a detachment of the peasantry under the c o m m a n d of his father. S o m e years after, criminal complications at the Dublin Police Court introduced the ex-warrior to a judge and jury, and a verdict of his countrymen doomed him to the colony of N e w South Wales for the residue of his natural life. H e found his way in the course of time to Port Phillip. A fair English scholar, barring his severity, he was above the average of c o m m o n teachers in grounding urchins in grammar, arithmetic, and what he himself styled " jaw-my-three" (geometry.) T h e great drawback in his existence was being deprived of the bog-distilled Irish potheen, which he declared to be nectar, the supposed beverage of the Olympian deities, and as there was no whisky then on tap in Melbourne he went in for absorbing a pint of two-ales at a time, because in his opinion, in a climate like this there was nothing either in eating or drinking to " bate " a big mouthful. " W h a c k " or M a c k went on with his post meridianal swiping, until one night the "long-drinks" got too strong for him, and whilst returning from a late carousal he tumbled into a gully at the intersection of Lonsdale and Elizabeth Streets; was found there next morning smothered, to the intense delight of the very limited circle of unwashed clientele whose parents patronised him. In Little Collins Street there ruled in more senses than one, a gaunt, bony-visaged Caledonian, William Nicholson, but familiarly termed " Bumble," through a tubercular affection which distended one of his feet into the semblance of a battered football, impeding his locomotion rather considerably. H e often gave his juvenile disciples an unasked-for half-holiday, whilst himself adjourned to a favourite tipplery, from which he would emerge extensively dazed in the evening, and his zig-zag progress through the streets would be greeted by a cordon of boys dancing around him like so many excited " bumble " bees. Apart from his frequent jollifications, and a fixed surliness of phiz, Nicholson was a well-meaning and well-regarded man, and a moderately fair instructor in the three R's. Michael C u m m i n s also adopted the scholastic avocation in Little Collins Street. Born in a nook of the Kerry Mountains in South Ireland, and partially educated for the R o m a n Catholic priesthood, he was m u c h more at h o m e in the ancient classics than in modern English, better versed in the heathen mythology of H o m e r and Virgil, than the realities of Euclid and Voster, more expert in dactyls and spondees than mounting the preliminary geometric problem, vulgarly though inelegantly designated the pons asinorum. H e was a young m a n of mild and unassuming manners, gentlemanly deportment, and correct habits of life, was m u c h of a devotee and exceptionally regular in attending to his religious duties, when he invariably used the Celtic and not the Anglo-Saxon tongue, and, unusual in an educated person, prayed with beads instead of a prayer-book. H e would, in all probability, have done well in after life, but consumption consigned him to a premature grave. In 1840, Mr. T h o m a s Stevenson published his opening of a day and evening school, and others followed. Amongst them was M r . T. H . Braim, of St. John's College, Cambridge, and head-master of the Proprietary School, N e w T o w n , V a n Diemen's Land. T h e terms were six guineas per quarter