The Chronicles of Early Melbourne/Volume 2/Chapter 59
CHAPTER LIX.
THE NATIVITY AND NON-AGE OF MELBOURNE JOURNALISM (CONTLNUED.)
SYNOPSIS:— George Arden. —William Kerr. —Thomas Hamilton Osborne. —Editorial Thrashings. —Byrne punches Greeves' Head. -Kelly cudgels Kerr. —Kerr's Arrest for carrying Arms. —Robinson assaults Cavenagh. —McNamara assaults Kerr. —Kentish assails Cavenagh. —Davis knocks down Cavenagh. —"The Recording Angels:" Mr. Joseph Byrne. —Mr. William Corp. —Mr. G. D. Boursiquot.—Mr. John Davies. —Mr. G———n F———n.— Mr. Edmund Finn. —Mr. John Curtis.—Fawkner and Finn. —Reporting Reminiscences. —The First Civic Dinner. —Curtis and the "Scotch Fiddle." —Curtis and the Missionary Doctor. —Finn and the Amateur Politician.
The Old Editors.
{{dropinitial|G}EORGE ARDEN, the Co-Proprietor and Editor of the Gazette, was an accomplished and florid writer, not only as a journalist, but as a pamphleteer. The literary power of which he was capable was unballasted by experience, and, there was no mental brake to keep him within bounds. He had for a time the sole newspaper at his command; but he was absorbed by an inordinate self-sufficiency, and lacked perseverance. When newspapers were small, and their success mainly depended on the active personal supervision of the editor, Arden, who understood little of, and cared less for, journalistic minutiæ, was satisfied when he supplied an elaborate "leader." He was also much given to libelling, and falling into trouble thereby. In 1839, he was convicted and fined; in 1841, he was committed for trial, but the prosecution was abandoned; in 1843, he was again convicted of libel in connection with the first Corporation selections, and his brilliant and splenetic tirades against the first Resident Judge (Willis), though powerful agents in the ultimate un-benching of the official, proved the ruin of the writer. The sentences of fine and imprisonment passed on Arden involved him in pecuniary embarrassments, from which he never rallied. His partner (Strode) took an early opportunity of "cutting the painter," leaving Arden on board the tottering Gazette, from the wreck of which he was forced by the pressure of creditors, and he never after recovered himself. He found means sufficient to enable him to return to England; but in 1844 re-emigrated and endeavoured to settle at Sydney. After two years of precarious struggle, and encumbered with a wife, he revisited Melbourne in 1846, but he found no eligible permanent opening, and was content to do hack work per column or article. He made a final effort to establish himself at Geelong, but failed, and poor Arden for the last two or three years of his life drank deeply from the cup of bitter disappointment.
William Kerr.—Much has been written of this gentleman in other chapters, for he appeared in a variety of characters on the stage of our early colonial life as Editor, Politician, Alderman, Councillor, etc. He was imported from Sydney by Mr. George Cavenagh to edit the Herald, but there was an incompatibility of temper as regarded the two men, which rendered it impossible that they could long agree. So Kerr took an early opportunity of shaking the dust of the Herald Office from his boots, bidding his early patron a curt good-bye, and passing over to the rival journal, the Patriot. Cavenagh regretted such a "bad bargain" as Kerr turned out for him, and his lamentations in the matter were both loud and frequent. Kerr was a softish, fattish-looking Scot, with a big head, and features to match. His left arm was affected by chronic gout or rheumatism, but he never went abroad without a formidable cudgel in his right hand, a weapon of defence he was glad to resort to, when, as more than once happened, he was assaulted in the public streets. Though a shrewd, long-headed individual in some respects, he had not much newspaper ability. His masterpiece was a half-column "leader" 
There is now (1885) living at St. Kilda an esteemed Scottish gentleman who knew much of Kerr's pecuniary difficulties, and often gave him a helping hand. In the course of my hunting up materials for the Chronicles, I addressed a communication to the gentleman in question relative to some of Mr. Kerr's undertakings, and from the kind and courteous reply received I made the following extract:— "I regret my inability to supply you with the exact information you require relative to the early history of poor Kerr's papers, although I had something to do with the starting of most of them, as the hat was always carried round by someone on these occasions, so regularly indeed that his staunch friend, Peter Young, of 'The Sugar Loaf,' once said to him in my hearing, 'You're just like a d————d bad Geneva watch. You cost mair siller to keep you going than you's a' worth.' Unlike the general run of his countrymen, Kerr was thoughtless and thriftless far beyond his means, which were at times not to be despised. The moment a pound entered his purse (I doubt if he kept one), it did not rest long there, for it was either spent or given away, he being both generous and charitable, when he had money. In temperament also he was a remarkable contradiction, or rather an amalgamation of the lion and the sheep. In his newspaper, at the City Council, a public meeting, or other demonstration, when on his mettle, no rejoinder, contradiction, or interruption could silence him. 'I'll not be put down,' was his shibboleth; and the only times he was ever known to be 'put down' was when some enraged object of his libellings would meet him at a street corner and knock him down. Yet, as an employer, or in private life, or a select boon companion, he was harmless and inoffensive, obliging, pleasant, and good-natured. He was well posted in colonial politics, and the minor branches of colonial law; but beyond these, his general information could not be reckoned of much account."
Thomas Hamilton Osborne was a Presbyterian minister, who abandoned the cassock for the editor's desk. He was a tall, sallow-faced man, with jaws of what may be styled the lanthorn order, and with a North of Ireland drawl or brogue, diluted in the Scottish burr, far from unpleasant to listen to. He was as intensely Irish as if born on one of the hills of Tipperary, and I never heard a better hand at a convivial Irish speech. Yet, strange to relate, his pulpit utterances were rather given to boredom, and his leading articles were often so very heavy that when printed in "leaded" type, they were such tiresome reading as to obtain for him the nickname of "prosy Osborne." He was a remarkable figure when flitting through the streets—his slightly stooped person garbed in a white bell-topper, green or black swallow-tail coat, and drab trousers. He remained for some years in Melbourne in connection with the Herald and Times, married a Geelong lass, departed westward, and established the Belfast Gazette. In after years he represented the united constituency, Belfast and Warrnambool, for a short time in the first Legislative Council, and died soon after.
The feeling of the several editors towards each other was absurdly personal and acrimonious, and carried to a ridiculous extent into public and private life. Kerr and Stephen both held high positions in the Fraternity of Freemasons, and some of their bitterest battles were fought in the Lodge-room. They were for a while on terms of such intimacy that Stephen was a welcome visitor at Kerr's house, but outside or inside differences terminated their friendly intercourse, and they remained ever afterwards at war. Kerr in his paper openly denounced Stephen with the grossest immorality, and Stephen retorted in unmeasured abuse, either through another paper, or at some election meeting, or other public place; or he would carry his grievance into the mystic circle of passwords and tylers, and then there would arise an altercation, but little consonant to the grand old principle of Truth, Charity, and Brotherly-Love upon which Masonry is traditionally supposed to have been founded. If a notice appeared in one paper reflecting upon any of the adherents of another, every effort was resorted to in revenge, and very bad blood often engendered thereby. The editors were also fond of calling each other names. Arden never knew his early competitor by any designation other than "the man Fawkner," and was in turn styled "the stuck-up brat." Kerr was christened "Noodle" (a misnomer) by Cavenagh, who was paid off as "the Big Drum," because his father was a Commissioned Officer in the British army, in which the son took much pride. Osborne used at times to imbibe rather too much, and on his way home traversed the streets in a serpentine fashion, through which he obtained the alias of "the Teetotum;" but the best hit made in the way of nick-naming was by Kerr, in respect to Boursiquot. At the period when the latter arrived in the province, Home ships were not victualled in the luxurious manner they are now, and somehow or other it got to be insinuated that Boursiquot, and some companions, made rather too free with a ham from the steward's larder. When Kerr heard this rumour he tinned the preserve for further use, and the first newspaper quarrel between him and Boursiquot, the object of his wrath was proclaimed a Westphalian," a compliment considered so equivocal by its recipient that he cut up terribly over it, which only established its efficacy as a caustic, and caused others besides Kerr to apply it whenever they had an account to square. M'Combie was known as "the Donkey," against which he neither kicked nor brayed much, for there was little liveliness in him; but whenever Cavenagh was "big-drummed" it was like beating a tattoo on his tympanum, which drove him nearly wild. Boursiquot also named him "Buggins," which was a sticking-plaster he never could shake off. In fact, between the pounding of the "Big Drum" and the reiteration of "Buggins," Cavenagh was made miserable, and the epithets stuck to him like wax. A glance through the old files give innumerable instances of the spiteful pettishness with which they were conducted. If an editor happened to be "dunned" for an account inconvenient to pay, or was sued for the recovery of a debt, he was unmercifully pilloried as if a public enemy, or some diabolical conspirator against the safety of Church and State. This disreputable warfare was also enforced against the reporters, and the attacks on some of them, actually written by editors, were most cowardly and disreputable. Notwithstanding all this the Press, as a whole, was cherished by the public as one of its great safeguards; the new papers were for the time well supported, and where one of them collapsed, it was more through its own fault than anything else.
Editorial Thrashings.
Byrne and Greeves.—The first instance happened on the 13th February, 1843, and the victim on this occasion was about the man connected with our early journalism who least merited an embrocation of physical force, for Dr. Greeves was always suave and gentlemanly, as inoffensive in the newspaper under his control as in the political arena, where he played no undistinguished role. However, as the Fates would have it, he was provisionally captaining the Gazette at this period when an ex-reporter named Joseph Byrne obtained the appointment of Corporation Rate Collector. The choice did not meet with general approval, and a paragraph in the Gazette emphatically asserted as much, whereupon Byrne waxed indignant, and waylaying Greeves in Collins Street not only punched his head, but threatened to murder him. The Doctor trotted off to the Police Court, and sueing out a warrant had his assailant arrested. At the hearing the complainant magnanimously forbore pressing the charge, and the defendant tendered an ample apology. Nevertheless he was judged to enter into recognizances, himself in £80 and two sureties of £40, to keep the peace for twelve months.
Kelly and Kerr.—In 1843 there was in Melbourne a Mr. Daniel Kelly, of much respectability and intelligence, a lawyer's clerk by profession, and the holder of a confidential position in the office of Meek and Clark, conveyancers, who kept shop in an old two-storey brick rookery at the western side of an open area off Little Collins Street, now the crowded legal thoroughfare known as Bank Place. Kelly was rather of a pleasant and jovial turn of mind, and the companions with whom he consorted called him "Darby." The Civic Ward Elections stirred up considerable interest, and Kelly took a prominent part, but always against the nominee of Mr. William Kerr. Kerr accordingly lost no time in paragraphing Kelly, and one morning Kelly was paraded as "Dirty Darby" before the readers of the Patriot. Kelly read and grinned (an ugly grinner he was) and bore; but he assured those in his confidence that the next time the unsavoury alliteration was repeated he would make it a warning for Kerr. The Patriot happened to have amongst its retainers a clever caustic poetaster named Hammond, also an Attorney's Scrivener, between whom and Kelly there was no love lost. It was the time of a contested election, when small local partizanship was at a white heat, and again the offending Patriot made its appearance with a Hammond effusion of a low, nasty and vulgar type, thus commencing—
"My name is Dirty Darby, and I came from sweet Erin,
The land of potatoes, buttermilk and brogue;
And I grew from my cradle so purty a bairn
That the neighbours all called me an ugly young rogue."
When Kelly read this he gasped with rage. His first impulse was to seek Hammond, but a little reflection suggested to his legai mind that, after all, there was no evidence beyond suspicion that his fellow clerk was actually the offender. Though Hammond was, therefore, spared from prudential motives, Kerr, the editor, was not; and Kelly forthwith prepared for the punishment of that "burly miscreant," as Darby once eloquently designated him. The intending flagellator lost no time in hunting up a formidable cudgel, with which he posted himself, like a sentry, at the north-west corner of Queen and Collins Streets, an intersection traversed by Kerr en route to his office every forenoon from a cottage in Lonsdale Street, where he resided. Kelly soon beheld his man cumbrously waddling down Queen Street, and moved under the Collins Street cover of a high paling—the enclosure of the Wesleyan Chapel, then occupying what was a Church Reserve. Here he waited with the club in both hands drawn back over his shoulders, ready for a smash, and just as Kerr, who wore big spectacles, was on the turn, Kelly let fly, but instead of the blow, as intended, scattering Kerr's brains about the footpath the aim missed so far as to strike Kerr on the left arm—already lamed by gout. The limb was much contused, and Kerr, who was game to the last, after a loud grunt of mingled pain and indignation, closed with his assailant, and after a short tussle both wrestlers came to the ground, when they were dragged apart by the crowd which hastily collected. Kerr was borne off to the next druggist's shop, kept by a Mr. Wilson, where his wound was dressed and a restorative imbibed, whilst Kelly, with an unscratched skin, was surrounded by a body-guard of admirers, who regarded him as a conquering hero, and each rapturously drank his health at an adjacent tavern. Kerr, when brought to and able to move, hobbled away to the Police Office, surrounded by a howling rabble, who assailed him with execrations and questions of "How he liked what he got?" and promises "That it shouldn't be the last drubbing in store for him." At the hearing of the charge, a fine of only 20s. was inflicted, with costs. Kerr, in a loud, blustering tone, protested that as he could not obtain adequate protection from the Court he should take measures for his own safety, even to the shedding of blood. The amount of the judgment was immediately subscribed in Court. Kerr was tumultously hooted to the door of the Patriot office, whilst Kelly was cheeringly serenaded.
Robinson and Cavenagh.—In the same year there was a Mr. Thomas A. Robinson, a well-known resident, who married the widow of a wealthy brewer, and had a good deal of time on his hands, with a liberal allowance of pocket-money to get through. Being much about town, he got embroiled in occasional squabbles, and took it into his head to "hammer" a man with whom he had an altercation. For this amusement he was not only fined, but shown up by the Herald in a stinging paragraph, for the paper and Robinson did not stand on the best of terms towards each other. Robinson forthwith determined to "hide" Mr. George Cavenagh, the Herald editor; and disdaining the employment of any other than a natural weapon, in the forenoon of the 23rd September, fist in hand, confronted his enemy in Little Collins Street, and committed an assault by suddenly turning round, taking Cavenagh from behind, and hitting him twice on the head. Cavenagh was a tall, strong man, and never travelled unaccompanied by a riding-whip, stout cane or stick, so grasping his assailant with the left hand he leathered him unmercifully with the right. Closing with each other a fierce struggle ensued, in which Robinson made a furious dash at Cavenagh's face, where he left the indents of his claws, Cavenagh taking him over the eye with his cane and drawing blood. Robinson, who had Cavenagh gripped by the throat, was obliged to relax his hold, but in so doing brought away as a trophy the whole breast or front of a snowy shirt, for Cavenagh was rather fastidious as to the quality and laundry of his linen. Some by-standers parted the belligerents, when the assailed hastened for redress to the Police Office, and the other to a chemist's shop to get patched up there. Before this plastering process was effected Robinson was in the clutches of the police, but bailed to appear at Court next day; and when he did so three-fourths of his head and face were strapped over with sticking-plaster. After the Magistrates patiently heard the pro and the con of the "set-to," they let off Robinson with a 25s. fine, the smallness of the penalty being measured by the profusion of blood which Robinson declared he had been depleted.
McNamara and Kerr.—In 1845 Mr. William Kerr was piloting his Courier through very troubled waters, and a wayward bad-tempered skiff it was. As a newspaper it was the quintessence of acridity, a crust filled with a vitriolic-vinegar compound. There lived in Queen Street a peppery-tempered tailor named Michael M'Namara, who took a special pleasure in thwarting Mr. Kerr, whenever they met in personal dispute, threatening, in a slang peculiar to him, to "knock Kerr into the middle of next week"; "spread him like bags upon an ass;" or some other equally dreadful alternative. An election was on the eve of coming off, and "Johnny" Fawkner, who had some notion of offering as a candidate, formed a coalition with M'Namara, though they detested each other as heartily as a certain unnameable black gentleman is said to loathe holy water. Kerr and Fawkner, who were fast friends until the former was ejected by Fawkner, senior, from the Patriot, were now implacable foes, and Kerr did everything in his power to check-mate the other. Getting an inkling of Fawkner's movements, the Courier one morning spoke out in this fashion:—"Mr. John Pascoe Fawkner is manoeuvring to get himself placed in nomination, and is to have Misthur Michael M'Namara, and a whole host of other half-hanged customers in attendance, to hold up their dirty paws in his favour." When "Mac" read this he foamed with wrath and prayed that "he may be hanged, quartered, and disembowled," (a favourite Irish historical imprecation of his), if he failed killing Kerr the first time he came within arm's length of him. This occurred on the 19th September, and there was an election nomination the same day, which Kerr would unfailingly attend. M'Namara being something of a pugilist, relying on the strength of his "bunch of fives," dogged Kerr from the hustings at the Court-house to Lonsdale Street, and as they neared Queen Street, he was on him like a flash of lightning. Rushing before him and shaking a fist in his face, he yelled out, "Kerr, you villain, why did you blackguard me in your filthy rag of a newspaper?" Kerr, who was, as already mentioned, virtually a one-handed man, always carried a whopping stick in his right hand. This weapon he raised, and aimed a tremendous blow at "Mac," which was skilfully dodged by the other, who dealt Kerr a smasher on the bridge of the nose which splintered his spectacles and sent him reeling against a shop window. Kerr, recovering, essayed again to raise his stick, but his antagonist rushing in, seized him around the body, and hugged him so violently as to compel him to drop the stick in order to keep upon his feet. Kerr then made several attempts to kick the squeezer about the shins and abdomen, when M'Namara, clutching him by his long hair with his left hand, planted a stunning blow on the right temple and felled him. Kerr was bleeding freely, and after a struggle managed to get upon his knees, when M'Namara stooping, asked him fiercely between his teeth: "Kerr, you out-and-outer of a scoundrel, will you ever put me in your blackguard paper again?" and the kneeling figure, besmeared with blood, slowly but emphatically gasped out, "I will, I will." "Mac," then drawing back, delivered a parting blow between the eyes and passed on. The most extraordinary feature in the fracas was that Kerr, when assaulted, was in the company of two supposed friends, named M'Donald and Hamilton, and they were so far from interfering that the first-named coolly and cowardly stood by as if enjoying what passed before him, whilst the other philosophically marched off about his business. Mr. Kerr obtained a summons against M'Namara. The case was heard at the Police Court, when the defendant was represented by Mr. Sidney Stephen, the Barrister. Kerr was dictatorial and something like impertinent to the Magistrates (Messrs. W. Hull, H. Condell, J. Smith, and E. Westby); he lost his temper into the bargain. He declined to admit his editorship of the Courier, but in a loud insolent tone admitted, "that if to write of M'Namara was provocation, he had given it, for he knew him to be a most notorious blackguard." This uncalled-for remark so shocked the Bench that one of its members (Hull) declared it was too much for him, and withdrew from his place, whilst the remaining Justices dismissed the complaint. Kerr left in high dudgeon, muttering threats of vengeance against the Court, whilst "Mac" was hailed with loud acclamations, and there was a notion of "chairing" him, but such a vehicle was not convenient. Some days after Kerr applied for a new trial, on the plea that the case had not been decided upon its merits. Rather inconsistently, a fresh summons was granted, a re-hearing took place, and the defendant was fined 30s., with 3s. 6d. costs. The amount was subscribed on the spot. Kerr subsequently blustered much of an intention to bring an action in the Supreme Court for assault and battery; but fresh troubles were in store for him, for early next year he was insolvent, and the Courier a thing of the past.
Kentish and Cavenagh.—Mr. Nathaniel L. Kentish, devoted much of his time and intelligence to efforts to provide the Melbournians with salt (or rather brackish) water-baths on the south bank of the Yarra—in fact he was as watery in the brain region as the modern and late Mr. Hugh M'Coll, of canaling celebrity, though riding his hobby in a different style. The Herald never took kindly to the Kentish speculations, and for this and other reasons the propounder of the bathing scheme and the conductor of the newspaper never got on well. On the 24th August, 1849, there appeared in the Herald a notice reflecting on Kentish, and annoying him so much that armed with a whip, and meeting Cavenagh in Elizabeth Street, he laid on to him. A warrant was issued against Kentish, to which he surrendered and was bailed. The case was set down for hearing on the 27th, and as Cavenagh was standing near the Police Court door, waiting his turn to be called, Kentish came up and repeated the assault. This time, however, Cavenagh showed good fight by knocking down the other, who was picked up by some constables, and detained in custody until the trial. The Mayor (Mr. W. M. Bell), and Mr. E. Westby constituted the Bench, and the defendant was heavily mulcted, viz., for the first assault, to pay £4 fine, with costs, or two months' imprisonment; and for the second, a fine of £5, or another two months'; and further, to enter into recognizances to keep the peace for 6 months, himself in £50 and two sureties of £25 each.
Davis and Cavenagh.—Mr. Peter Davis, a prosperous Knight of the Hammer, did a good knocking-down business in Melbourne, and realized a full purse thereby. Davis and Cavenagh of the Herald, never "cottoned" to each other, possibly because the auctioneer did not advertise as liberally in the newspaper as its master wished. However, they were always in a mutually hostile mood, for Davis could well nurse a dislike, and Cavenagh was as good a hater as Dr. Johnson. The ruling desire of Davis was to be elected a member of the City Council, and the unalterable determination of Cavenagh that it should not be if he could prevent it. I have not the correct date, but it would be probably in 1854, when there was a Civic contest in Latrobe Ward, and Davis had early taken the field. Cavenagh was at once on the side of the Opposition candidate, and the struggle grew exciting. There was then on the Herald a literary factotum, a sort of right-hand man of Cavenagh, who could do everything from a "leader" to a shipping notice, and they generally worked well together, for they found themselves, as time and circumstances were, necessary to each other. The employé was the Mr. Finn referred to in otherplaces, as well known as the Post Office, and as active an electioneer as his chief. One day during the election excitement the arcades ambo had a row (a rare occurence) in the Herald office, and Finn felt that Cavenagh had dealt him an injustice (not at all unlikely); and after Cavenagh had jauntily left the scene of altercation, Finn was quizzed by some of the office hands, one of whom scoffingly asked, "Well, I suppose you will be thinking of cutting George now?" "Certainly not," replied the other, "it does not suit my cards to 'cut' Master George just now, at all events; but ere a week is over I will get another to 'cut' him in a style of which neither you nor he has the slightest notion." There was a general laugh, and the conversation ended. Next day Cavenagh and Finn met, and were seemingly on the best of terms with each other. They spoke about the coming election, and Cavenagh rubbed his hands in high glee, for the other told him, from what he could gather amongst Ward voters, Peter Davis did not stand even the ghost of a chance. "I have just left him," continued Finn, "surrounded by a pack of his supporters, by the Mechanics' Institute. He was abusing you fearfully, calling you a 'long wretch,' a 'gobemouch,' and 'Buggins,' and declaring before he was quite done with you, he'd beat the big drum on your head." The quoted epithets were well-known nicknames from time to time tacked on to Cavenagh, and the application of any of them always riled him. Cavanagh turned white with rage, bit his lip, and vowed he would make it warm for Davis. "Look here," he said to his satellite, "You go at once and write something that will touch the scoundrel on the raw; and give it to him in style about the Sydney affair. You understand." Mr. Finn lost no time in executing his commission. The "Sydney affair" was a passage in the past life of Peter Davis, of which no colonist need be ashamed, though he felt a morbid sensitiveness about any allusion to it. On Cavenagh returning to his editorial sanctum in the afternoon, the Davis epistle was ready for his perusal; he read and re-read it, gloated over and pronounced it to be the very thing wanted, and passed it on to the printing office. Next morning at breakfast Peter Davis had the Herald before him, and it was breakfast enough for him. Though he could not stomach it, he had no appetite for anything else. There appeared before him over a nom de plume in itself sufficient to unsettle a greater Stoic, in very readable type, accentuated by many italicised expressions, a communication of a very pungent and personal description, holding him forth in terms of rancorous reprobation as a character from whom the citizens should run rather than elect, and well seasoned with innuendoes which stung like a scorpion. Swallowing a cup of strong coffee as a "pick-me-up," and snatching the newspaper, he sallied forth, procured a horsewhip, and sought the earliest opportunity of giving Cavenagh a taste of it. The latter resided in Little Flinders Street East, and as he was proceeding to his office about eleven o'clock, Davis met him, and with one well-dealt blow knocked him down, looked at the writhing prostrate figure, and passed on. Cavenagh, though wounded, was not killed, and was assisted to a neighbouring chemist's. He then, by the aid of a stick, marched on to the office, and when he entered, there was Finn before him, busily engaged in the pretension of doing something. On beholding Cavenagh with a very long face and disfigured headgear, the blood trickling through the lint stuck on over one of his ears, Finn jumped up, affected much surprise, and exclaimed, "Good heavens! Mr. Cavenagh, what has happened?" "You may well inquire," loudly growled the other, "It is all your doing, you confounded little scoundrel; see what you have got me through that blackguard letter you wrote about Davis. There, the fellow has gone and half killed me I believe." Mr. Cavenagh," responded the other, "you have only yourself to blame, certainly not me. You asked me to write the letter, and you approved and published it." So saying Finn took up his hat and papers and departed, telling Cavenagh as he passed, that he had to run up to the Insolvent Court, at which was jerked out an exclamation more curt than polite, "That he might go to the devil." And this is the novel manner in which the promise "to cut Long George" was accomplished. Davis was subsequently proceeded against at the Police Court, and fined £5 for the assault. The same Mr. Peter Davis, despite of the Herald influence, attained the so much coveted seat at the City Council table, and was Mayor of Melbourne in 1856-7. He died a few years ago.
The "Recording Angels."
Joseph Byrne, joined the Herald, and very soon came into open collision with the judicial despots known to ancient history as Judge Willis and Major St. John. Byrne had two or three rare tiffs with St. John in the Police Court. A more brow-beating bully never sat on the Bench, and if he only heard a reporter speaking above his breath, he would coarsely order him to "shut up" or he would have him turned out. Once he was on the point of relegating Byrne to the lock-up for a high crime of this kind, but at the last moment changed his mind, and did not. Byrne in consequence was resolved to have it out with him even in his own Court, if ever he had the chance, and a chance came sooner and easier than expected. One day the Major's temper was sorely tried through a dissatisfied suitor questioning the justice of a decision, whereat St. John, with an oath, swore if he uttered another tittle he would have him rammed into the watch-house. Byrne, who was by, waited until the Police Magistrate had retired, and then obtained from another Justice a summons against St. John for swearing in Court. The Major was fined 5s., and never forgave his prosecutor. It was surmised that through his influence Byrne lost his billet soon after. Possessed, however, of certain friendly influences, he soon managed to procure the appointment of Corporation Rate-collector, much to the disgust of the Herald, in which it was denounced as a gross job. Byrne, finally bolted, leaving two townspeople, who were so good-naturedly foolish as to become security for him, to square up the deficiency with the Corporation. He was subsequently heard of in distant parts, and in one of the "fifties" returned for a short time incog. to the colony, when he finally disappeared and was never afterwards heard of. There are now in Victoria several families of position matrimonially connected with this long-forgotten runaway.
William Corp was employed on the Patriot at a very early date. He was well-disposed to do a good day's work, but did not much fancy knocking about. Plant him in the Supreme Court and he could grind like a writing-mill for twelve or fifteen hours, turning out the most legible MS. by the quire, and then he would jog home to his hotel (he always lodged at one), pack away a "meat tea" that would serve another for days, absorb a more than liberal allowance of "half-an-half"—then tuck himself in the blankets, and be "as happy as a king" until morning. He was connected off and on with various papers for several years, but as the years accumulated so his thirst increased. His sprees were more frequent, and at length no dependence could be placed on him. After the gold discoveries he was obliged to quit Melbourne, and he lived, or rather existed, by odd jobs on some provincial journal, shepherding, or hut-keeping, but mostly on that most precarious of walks in colonial life conventionally termed "the wallaby track." Twice every year he made his way to town, and called upon an old Press friend, who, on such occasions, usually presented him with half-a-sovereign, which poor Corp looked forward to with the certainty of an annuitant drawing a dividend of Government Stock. When the days of adversity fell upon Corp, Finn many a time helped the hand that befriended him many a long day before at the old forgotten Criminal Sessions, and the first time Corp arrived from the country he was told that every half-year trip he made there should be a half-sovereign ready for him, to eat it or drink it, or do what he liked with it. The annuitant so lived for some twenty years, and the benefactor, who is still alive, has often told the queer story.
G. D. Boursiquot, referred to in the editorial group, made his first appearance as a journalist in the capacity of reporter for the Herald. He was a spruce, stylish-looking fellow, who paid more attention to fashion of his shirt collar, the tie of his cravat, and the sit of his vest, than his fellows. He was never without a bell-topper, and a ring or two on his fingers, and prided himself on his reputation as a lady-killer. His forte on a newspaper was light, airy sketching, and smartly got up police paragraphs, though when he passed to the higher grade he carried heavier metal. He was an amateur actor, and performed occasionally on the boards of the "Pavilion," the first theatre in Melbourne. A propensity for what is in play-going parlance known as "gagging," which he usually overdid, sometimes got him into a scrape, and once when this kind of interpolation drifted into the region of indelicacy, he and Cavenagh had a row over it, and the Herald knew him no more. Boursiquot was very partial to any attractive young lady connected with the early theatricals, and his attention to some of them was of a decidedly pronounced character. After leaving the Herald he passed over to the Gazette, and thence his motto was "Excelsior" until he left the colony the reputed possessor of a handsome competence.
John Davies, one of "The Children of Israel," prior to coming to Melbourne filled the office of Chief-Constable in New South Wales. A chubby, red-cheeked, dark-haired, unmistakably Jewish-visaged personage, he had a whole foundry of "brass" in his face, and was not only self-assertive, but cheeky. Though comparatively illiterate, he owned other gifts to make up the deficiency, could scrape together readable paragraphs, and as a collector of news scraps was invaluable. It would be hard to find a better general intelligence forager, and at a time when the few officials in Melbourne were insolent and overbearing, no man knew better how to overawe them with his bluster. He was employed on the Patriot and Gazette, and having a turn for the stage, was much mixed up with the first and second theatres, established in Bourke and Queen Streets. There was one queer sensation piece—a great favourite with the habitués of the "Pavilion"—in which the most grotesquely horrible impersonation was a resurrectionist, or "body-snatcher," and in this Davies was unapproachable; so lively, or rather deadly, did he go through the disgusting ordeal of grave-opening. coffin-breaking, and tugging up the corpse effigy by the head. The "house" used to be brought down; and as there would be loud calls for an encore, Davies would turn round, "grin horribly a ghastly smile" at the gaping and clapping audience, and roar out "Don't you wish you may get it." He was a deft hand at securing theatrical benefits for himself, and so well able to beat up for such an occasion, that he never failed to have a bumper. There was an unexpected greatness stored up in the future for Davies, for after a lengthened sojourn in Melbourne he transferred himself to Tasmania, and soon grew into a man of mark in Hobart Town, where he entered the political arena, was elected to the Colonial Parliament, and established the newspaper known as the Mercury. Though not a genius in himself, Mr. Davies had the knack of knowing well how to select the most suitable implements, human or mechanical, to work with; and to the judgment manifested by him in this way, may be attributed the success with which his new venture was attended. Davies died several years ago, leaving behind a journal, now one of the leading organs of public opinion in the City of Hobart.
G———n F———n was a slow-going Scot, and during several years reported for the Herald, Plodding, prosy, and painstaking, he contracted an unbreakable habit of indulging in lengthy, involved, and inexplicably confused sentences---a chaos of clauses without head or tail. It was only the exigency of the times, and the difficulty of obtaining any person capable of doing anything in the newspaper line, that rendered it possible for such a person to retain the position in which he was. Kerr, wishing to pay off a grudge, would cowardly publish a paragraph about F———n's periodical weakness for strong drinks, and he nick-named him "Little Sobriety;" so whenever he felt disposed to start his enemy on the loose, all he had to do was to side-head a paragraph with the sobriquet. The pitcher, however, was carried to the well once too often. He contrived to get established in a retail business, abjured alcoholism, and did fairly well. In a few years he started two small periodicals, which did not live long, and he was at one time a Corporation Inspector. He has long since gone the way of all flesh, but members of his family survive. To those who knew him, he seemed an upright, conscientious, and well-intentioned man. On the Press, at the time written of, he was out of his element, but as a private citizen, was all that could reasonably be desired.
Edmund Finn had the longest connection of any of his contemporaries with the early Press, and continued during his journalistic career, on one newspaper, the Herald, to which he was attached more than thirteen years, and left only to fill an appointment on the clerical staff of the Legislative Council Department. Arriving in the colony in his teens, and fresh from school, crammed brimful of Greek and Latin classics, but little else, he amused himself by dashing into the excitement of the Civic and Legislative elections, wrote some squibs in prose and verse for the Herald, was spotted by Cavenagh, and appointed the successor of F———n. The Herald, therefore, though deprived of one Fin," secured the other "Finn," the new comer taking to the newspaper as a fish does to water, and was soon quite at home in a congenial element. A contemporary some years ago thus wrote of him:—"Mr. Finn I verily believe knew every inhabitant of Melbourne of any importance, and knew nearly everything that was going on. He was especially distinguished for his intimate acquaintance with civic and social matters, and as a gatherer of news was expert and indefatigable. He was as well known as 'Johnny Fawkner.' He was short, and very short-sighted, and had a remarkably big head with plenty in it." He was the most diminutive of all his compeers; and, though eccentric and impulsive like many of his countrymen, for he was Hibernian "to the backbone and spinal marrow," he was not devoid of forethought and caution, serving his employer well, and soon ingratiating himself as a favourite with everyone, except the section of the community opposed to the politics and personnel of the Herald, or rather its proprietor—Cavenagh. He was, however, excessively disliked by some of the editors of the other papers; but he snapped his fingers, and said he did not care a fig for them, for, as he never intended to leave the Herald, he should never beg a billet from any of them. Sarcastic aliases were bestowed on him in abundance, but he paid back in the same coin. Kerr dubbed him "Brian Boru," and "The Herald Monkey," and as return compliments he called Kerr the "Ourang-outang," the "Ogre," and the "Cyclops." Boursiquot designated him "Classical Neddy," and once, when he roasted, in a speech at St. Patrick's Hall, the first proprietor of The Argus, for a wholesale slandering of some Irish orphan girls shipped to the colony, Mr. Edward Wilson had it formally registered in The Argus archives that Finn should never, on any account, nor under any circumstances, be employed on that journal. There was never any need to enforce this magnanimous record. The wars and the truces waged and ratified between Finn and Fawkner were so many and amusing as to deserve treatment in a separate notice. Cavenagh and he always pulled well together—a circumstance the more surprising that they were both unblessed with the best of tempers, and at times could be hasty and petulant enough; but the reason for this was once briefly and satisfactorily thus explained. A mutual friend (a colonist who once bore a titled name) one day said to Cavenagh, "How in the world does it happen that you and Finn agree so well?" "It is easily accounted for," was the response. "We are both hot-tempered fellows, but we are essential to each other. He wishes to retain his berth, and I wish to retain him. We, therefore, both make it a point to so keep ourselves in restraint, that we rarely have a flare-up; and thus it is that we get along capitally." Finn soon mastered all the details of the office, and was able to do, and did, everything but "set up." Instances occurred where, with the exception of the shipping, commercial, and advertising branches, he wrote the entire paper from title to imprint. He came to be regarded as one of the chattels of the establishment, something like an old metal writing-stand, which was never parted with, and was always placed on the editor's table; and when, as in after years occurred, the concern more than once changed hands, the two chattels were taken over in the inventory, for no new proprietor would think of parting with either of them, the one for his usefulness, and the other for luck's sake. Once, however, a new editor kicked aside the old pen-and-ink apparatus, which Finn picked up, and to this day retains it as a souvenir of long ago, a battered, shabby-looking old friend, whom he has often declared he would not barter for one of gold. This happened some years after the gold discoveries, and with the old castaway vanished the early prestige and influence by which the journal was surrounded. As an universal newsmonger Finn was unrivalled, for his continuance upon one paper without a day's intermission brought to him a general knowledge of the men and things of the then small Melbourne. He remained on the Herald from 1845 to 1858, when the long venue was changed by Mr. (subsequently Sir J.) O'Shanassy offering him the appointment he held in the Legislative Council until the year 1886. Though, as already stated, an excellent classical scholar, he was heard to say that of English grammar he never learned anything, and could not parse three words of the language. Still his success as a journalist was far from inconsiderable.
John Curtis.—But unquestionably the most extraordinary man ever on the Melbourne Press was Mr. John Curtis, a near connexion of a once well-known London banker of that name. He took to such a sowing of "wild oats" at Home that his friends expatriated him, and on the voyage to New South Wales he managed to get entangled in a crim. con. case, which quickly brought him to grief in Sydney. An arrangement was made with the injured husband which conditioned that Curtis should "make tracks" to Van Diemen's Land, and he lost no time in doing so. After a brief sojourn there, he arrived in Melbourne, and had no difficulty in finding suitable employment in the counting-house of Messrs. Turnbull, Orr and Co., an old mercantile firm in Collins Street. In 1843 he an unsuccessful candidate for the Town Treasurership. He finally took to the Press, and during his career was on every newspaper in Melbourne. If Curtis had been steady, and settled down contentedly to his work, he would have been an invaluable ally to any journal, for, though like all the other early reporters, he was practically unskilled in any system of phonography, he attended an important evening meeting, and wrote out, single-handed, between five and six ordinary columns of brevier for the next morning's publication. Curtis was much given to spirituous and fermented enjoyment, yet his imagination was never more active, or his pen more lively, than when he was "three sheets in the wind." Though the converse of an Israelite, there was so much of the Caucasian in his appearance that the first time Sir C. G. Duffy beheld him he was startled at what he believed, for a moment, to be the ghost of the great English statesman afterwards ennobled as Lord Beaconsfield. It was often said of Curtis by one who knew him well "That he would sell you for sixpence, and spend a shilling on you." And so it was. Poor Jack was the gayest and jolliest fellow that could be found. Wherever he went he carried an atmosphere of fun and dare-devilry about with him, and as a boon companion he had no rival near the throne, for he was the boy to "keep the table in a roar." He was always in difficulties of some kind—in fact, was never out of a scrape. Ultimately his increasing dissipation drove him off the Melbourne journals, and he had to take refuge on some of the weak suburban saplings then beginning to sprout at Collingwood, Richmond, and other localities. At length there was an end to his tether, and he died very suddenly over twenty years ago.
Fawkner and Finn.—No two of the old newspaper identities were oftener in enmity or amity than "Johnny" and "Neddy," as they were universally termed; indeed, they were hardly ever spoken of but as "Johnny Fawkner" and "Neddy Finn." Though Fawkner had retired from the Patriot, and was never pecuniarily interested in any other journal, you might as well expect an uncaged bird to keep away from a greenwood tree, as "Johnny" to abstain from scribbling. If ever a man was incurably afflicted with the cacœthes scribendi et loquendi it was he; and whenever the spouting season was slack, and there was no stump to mount, there he was rasping away in the correspondence branch of one of the journals, always ungrammatical, often illogical, but invariably personal and offensive. If he sustained a defeat at one of the many Ward or other meetings, which were common, the next morning beheld an abusive rhodomontade from his pen, and he was usually a verbose writer. The badness of quality was only equalled by the quantity, thereby doubling or trebling the infliction. Fawkner was as irregular in his moods and tenses as the most complicated Greek verb; as changeable as a chameleon, and as perverse as the most spoiled child.
"Everything by turns, and nothing long,"
He turned his coat as many times as there are weeks in the year. Originally one of the Scoto-cum-Kerr clique in the Town Council, he shifted to the other side, and on one occasion owed his re-election to a coaxing of the Irish vote. For a time he was a true-blue Orangeman, but transferred his hero-worship from William the Third to St. Patrick, whose green banner he soon deserted through some fresh whim. For a time he would select the Herald, as his speaking-trumpet, then fly to the Gazette, make the round of the Daily News, and so on. About a dozen times in every twelve months he subscribed to, and resigned, each of the various journals; and so he went on, a human whirligig—so eccentric in its motions that no person could possibly guess its next gyration. From politics "Johnny" would make a running leap into polemics, and the Papacy and all its imputed fallacies would be overhauled. He would fawn upon and flatter the Irish one month, and the next his clumsily executed blarney would be transfused into gall. In many of such controversies Finn would be into him hot and strong, when Fawkner would retort and the other rejoin, generally having the last word, a conquest no other person could gain over Fawkner. He would stigmatize Finn as the "Papist pigmy," the "Milesian mite," and the "little brat," though in height " Johnny" could boast of only about an inch or so over the other.
Like Achilles, though not in the heel, there was one point in which Fawkner was vulnerable—one blot in the Fawknerian system—a grinning skeleton in the Fawknerian family closet, which though only to be approached by dexterous innuendo, never failed to hit the mark. Nevertheless, they would be "in" and "out" with each other, for Fawkner was a forgiving soul, and the other was forgetful of injury, and good-natured. Fawkner was always the first to make a peace-offering. The treaty, however, would be of short duration, for perhaps in a week after Fawkner would write or say something disgustingly offensive about the Pope, Convents, the Irish, or the Herald; and when in his tantrums, would usually, when he passed. snarlingly greet the other with, "Well, my little Papist Neddy, how do you shape to-day?" To which the other would sneeringly reply, "Quite well Johnny Capricorn, I hope I see you frisky." And thus getting a gentle touch of the harpoon, the other would whisk away with a passionate exclamation of "Ho! ho!" not venturing a rejoinder. When "out" they always addressed each other as "Neddy" and " Capricorn," and when "in" as "Edmondus" and "John Pascoe." Fawkner's mother's name was Anne Pascoe, and there was a charm in the sound which no doubt stirred up the old filial tenderness, for he was a fond and dutiful son; and though his mother and sister returned to England a few years after the expatriation of the father, "Johnny" clung affectionately to the old man, and all praise be to his memory for having done so. To Pascoe Vale, a suburban land section, purchased by him, some seven miles from Melbourne, on what was then known as the Moonee Ponds Road, he gave a maternal designation. Here he was comfortably nested for a considerable time, and grew some of the first and best grapes in the province, baskets of which, and bunches of flowers he often left at Finn's house during the frequent intervals when amicable relations subsisted between them. In most of the early party squabbles engendered by the Corporation and Legislative elections, Fawkner and Finn took different sides. Fawkner and O'Shanassy used to have stiff onslaughts, but "Johnny" was no match for "Jack," and generally ran away like a whipped hound, for some of such scenes would occur in the open streets. O'Shanassy was the acknowledged General of the Irish Battalions, and Finn was a sort of aide-de-camp in his suite. They were very intimate friends, and very often together, so that wherever the one was visible the other was not far off. "Johnny" Fawkner would sometimes call Finn "Big Jack's Jackal." O'Shanassy was, when he liked, a long-stepped walker, and, compared with the other, was as if indued in the seven-league boots of the giant of nursery fable; and when in such pedestrian humour, the little fellow trotted haud passibus æquis by his side, often to cause much amusement, for the one was tall as the other was short. Finn, through his familiarity with O'Shanassy, and position on the Herald, a quasi-Irish organ, acquired a popularity with his countrymen second only to that of the Generalissimo, and to engage with him during a heated election was sometimes a rather risky undertaking, as he was well backed by devoted myrmidons. Fawkner and he met one day in Elizabeth Street. They were both in company with canvassing staffs of rival candidates, and rather excited with the work. Fawkner let off a wholesale volley of abuse of everything. Popish, from Rome to Father Geoghegan, and everything Irish from "Big Jack" to "Papist Neddy." The Irish detachment was more numerous than the other; Finn was in command, and his Sergeant-major was a wild Celtic cordwainer named Pat Kennedy, who at once called upon his adherents to "give the miserable crawler Fawkner a rousing volley of groans."
When the bi-cameral system of government was instituted in 1856, Fawkner was elected by the Central Province as one of its representatives in the Legislative Council, where he continued until his death. Finn, he fanatically believed to have been brought into official relation with the upper branch of the Parliament for ulterior designs-to serve as a sort of spy, or plain-clothes policeman—a mouchard who would be ever working in the dark, taking notes and making observations, all for the special information and enlightenment of the prime Popish emissary, O'Shanassy. He talked of it amongst members, prated about it to messengers, and whenever he met his bête noir in a lobby or a committee-room he rated him, and threatened all sorts of exposure. He even went so far as to express an intention of tabling a motion in the Council on the subject. The annoyance at length became so persistent and petulant, that Finn determined upon seeing it out with Fawkner at the first favourable opportunity. This occurred, for when they met one day at the intersection of Victoria Parade and Nicholson Street, Finn, before the other had time to say something nasty, thus accosted him: "Look here, my ancient friend, 'Old Capricornus,' I was anxious to meet you away from all Parliamentary precincts for fear of committing a breach of privilege upon the individual now known as the 'Honourable Johnny.' I have simply to say to you that the next time I hear any more of your goings on about me, I shall get an upholsterer to manufacture an effigy of you. This I shall get done with a pair of horns sprouting from the head, and the name branded on the breast, in true Port Arthur style; and I'll have it hung from that tree (pointing to one of which the trunk still remains (1888), and all the fast Irishmen in Melbourne dancing about it. I never made you a promise before that I did not keep; and so sure as you are Johnny Fawkner, the son of his father (you know what I mean by that), I'll keep this. So au revoir." Fawkner passed on without a word, and the shadow of the dreaded simulacrum kept him tongue-tied for more than four years—a marvellous taciturnity for him. At length there came a fierce explosion about 1863, when Fawkner took it into his head that Finn had something to do with the Victorian, a Roman Catholic journal then in existence; and there was another newspaper campaign, short and sharp, but doomed to be the last. The same year an extraordinary and un-Parliamentary burst-up was near occurring in the Council Chamber. Finn was temporarily promoted to the Assistant Clerkship, and consequently had to take his place wigged and gowned at the table of the House; whilst Fawkner, through his delicacy of health, habitually wore a small velvet cap, which he never doffed during the proceedings. On the first occasion of Finn's robed appearance in the chamber, before the President (Sir J. Palmer) took the Chair, Fawkner ambled over to the new comer, and commenced to monodise jeeringly in something sounding like, "Don't we look well in our wig! Don't we look well in our wig."! Finn turning on him quietly said, "Johnny Capricorn, let me change my wig for your nightcap, and we'll be the two champion beauties of the world; but before I do so the nightcap must be fumigated." With that Fawkner danced like a mad dervish about the table, and protested that the moment the Chair was taken he would report the insult to the President. The Honourables Captain Cole and W. Hull interposed their good offices to still the storm so inauspicously brewing, and after much persuasion they prevailed upon Fawkner to be quiet.
Fawkner and Finn never after quarrelled, owing most likely to the former's advancing years, and his increase of bodily ailments. The political turn assumed by public events had also something to do with it, for Fawkner was now an ultra-Conservative, and the other, though since he took office he did not show it, was the reverse of a red-hot Democrat. Fawkner at last ventured one day to Finn's room, and by the presentation of No. 2 of his old foolscap newspaper, a book, a photograph, and a paper of buns coaxed the other to forgive and forget, and so they mutually agreed to wipe out all the old scores chalked up as outstanding arrears, to mentally sign a joint acquittance, and ever more, be friends. This compact so singular, all circumstances considered, was faithfully kept, and the depreciatory terms of "Johnny Capricorn" and "Papist Neddy" were sunk in the waters of oblivion, from the bottom of which they never emerged; and "Edmondus" and "John Pascoe" grew into recognized "standing orders," never to be suspended.
On one point, however, Fawkner took his stand, viz., he would have nothing in return for what he bestowed. He liked to be placing Finn under small obligations, and he was humoured accordingly. The only way in which any reciprocation of favours ever occurred was in the case of Fawkner accepting from his beneficiaire photographs of himself and Father Geoghegan, the first Roman Catholic Priest in Port Phillip, between whom and Fawkner there never was anything approaching an entente cordiale. Destiny or chance had also provided for the transfer of O'Shanassy from the Assembly to the Council, and "Johnny" dropped down to the condition of a Parliamentary henchman to his quondam, "Big Jack"; but, though they fought side by side in some Legislative struggles, Fawkner never took so kindly to him as he did to his "Edmondus." Respecting the Convent question, Finn succeeded in converting Fawkner so far to his views, that they had arranged to pay a visit together to the Convent of Mercy, in Nicholson Street, an intention which would have certainly been carried out but for Fawkner's demise.
In August, 1869, Fawkner was conversing with some of his fellow-lawmakers. The group were soon joined by Mr. O'Shanassy with whom Fawkner shook hands. The members then proceeded to the House, and in the corridor Fawkner and Finn met and "Johnny" held forth his hand, which the other jocularly refused to take, "Ho, ho, man" was the exclamation, "What has gone wrong with you, my fine fellow." "Simply this," replied the other, "I saw you just now shake hands with the Irish giant outside there, and I don't mean to shake yours, you ought to be ashamed of yourself." "Why," asked Fawkner, "have you had a shindy with 'Big Jack? I thought you and he were thick friends." "All right," laughingly replied the other, "Johanna Pascoevenni absolvo te. Come," shouted "Johnny," "don't you go bothering me with your dog-Latin. Though you are Irish, I have often known to my cost that you can speak English well. So out with what you have to say in our mother-tongue." "All right," was the response. The translation is, "John Pascoe, I give you absolution, which, in the Roman Catholic faith, means, that when a sinner repents, and promises to sin no more, he is forgiven; but the penance on you is this, that you must not repeat the trangression." "Oh, I understand all now," replied "Johnny"; "But there's old Palmer commencing his Lord's Prayer, I must be off. Good-bye." They shook hands, Fawkner went his way, and this was the last time they ever spoke to each other. The next morning Fawkner was stricken down by a fatal affliction; he was never seen in public again, and he died on the 4th September, 1869.
Reporting Reminiscences.
The modern newspaper pen-drivers are much better remunerated than their predecessors were in the age of which I am writing, when the highest "screw" was £3 per week, and occasionally not so much. Neither were the payments so punctually made as they are now; for when one of the ancient journals got into what is slangily known as Queer Street," the employés, literary and mechanical, had often to go for weeks without any "tin," and were never squared up with until the end of the quarter, when the accounts owing would come in. In some instances quarter-day failed even to bring this comfort. The Herald was an exception to this inconvenient, though occasionally imperative practice, for one thing Cavenagh always punctually did, i.e., pay off every farthing of salaries and wages on the Saturday. However he contrived it, the rhino was there, and so far employment on the Herald possessed the material advantage that the labourer was not only deemed worthy of, but regularly received his hire. Nor had the olden reporters the modern chance of squeezing some perquisites out of what are termed weekly expenses, for no such item was known amongst them. The circuit of their operations was restricted, for practically before the gold discoveries there were no suburbs except Collingwood. There were no evening papers to be rushed out, no Eastern or Western Districts to be "done," no interviewing of Ministers, nor touting about Departments. The Supreme Court, with its one-man machine of a Judge, Commissioner Barry's Court of Requests, "Little-Go," the Town Council, the Police Court, the Coroner, and occasional meetings only had to be looked after. Railways and omnibusses were entombed in futurity, and cabs were few and dear. The reporters, therefore, performed their duties as an infantry corps, except on rare and special occasions, when they might have to travel to Brighton, Williamstown, or some other place out of town, and then they were horsed. The only regular cavalry amongst them were the shipping reporters, who, when incoming vessels were signalled of an evening from the Flagstaff, were permitted to ride to the beach (whence they boarded the vessel by boat), and back again. After a few years, the newspaper proprietors started boats at Williamstown, and in emergencies, the shipping reporters used to ride up from Sandridge, though rarely they had to travel by the overland route from Williamstown, and some narrow escapes from drowning happened, when the punt did not work, and the horses had to be swam over the Saltwater River.
But the old reporters had, in their way, certains rights and immunities, which, I dare say, some members of their posterity would be only too glad to inherit, and of these I shall specify three, viz.—No reckoning was ever taken from them at public-houses, where they could personally order what they liked, and drink it free, gratis; they were never supposed to "stand treat" for anyone, but on the contrary, swallow as many nobblers or pints as were offered, to which, indeed, there was seldom any stint; and thirdly, no constable was supposed to lock up one of them, be he as drunk as Bacchus, and as uproarious as a lunatic in a refractory ward. These usages, originating in a remote antiquity, were legalized by prescription, and consolidated by time into a species of Common Law more observed than most of the statutes.
The old reporters were on more convivially fraternal terms with the public than their successors, and the promiscuous treating of them was more general. There were never more than three at a time on the Press, and, as they were to be seen everywhere, the people got to know them well, became familiarized with them, and on the whole liked them much better than the editors, who were always mixed up with small bitter cabals or cliques. Such an occurrence as the knocking down of a reporter was unknown; a fellow for a scurrilous paragraph of which he was morally known to be the writer, through previous threats or some other equally probable reason, might get a shaking or a black eye, casualties nearly always cured without Police Court intervention, by a bout of drinking, an apology, or something more substantial. But events of this kind were of very rare occurrence.
Stenography was unknown for many years, though by practice the Pressmen acquired a mode of abbreviating long hand, which, with quick writing, retentive memories and a knowledge of the few subjects that would be debated, enabled them to turn out reports several columns in length, where speeches read much better than they were delivered, and the speakers were not only often satisfied but thankful. Besides, some of the more prominent public men supplied their own addresses to the Press—Drs. Lang, Palmer and Greeves, Messrs. E. Curr, A. Cunninghame, W. Westgarth and others always did so; Judges Willis, Therry and A'Beckett were equally accommodating, but Judge Jeffcott never would do so.
In 1845, one day Corp, Davies and Finn were reporting in the Supreme Court; Mr. Justice Therry delivered a judgment, and the MS. was handed by the Associate (Mr. R. W. Shadforth) to Corp who sat nearest to the Bench, upon, of course, the well-known implied understanding that the Press representatives would make the usual arrangement. Davies whispered to Finn, "The Patriot comes out in the morning, and it would be a good lark to do it out of the judgment." All right," responded the other; "you'll be a smart fellow if you succeed, but do so if you can." "You'll see; my word, if I don't," was Davies' rejoinder, and the subject for the time dropped. Towards the afternoon Davies told Corp he wished to make a brief abstract of the paper as the Gazette would not print it in full, and for this purpose Davies obtained the judgment, saying he would get what he required from it in the Insolvent Court, and would be sure to speedily return it. "Here it is then," replied Corp handing it over, "and be sure you lose no time in giving it back, as I wish to send it with other copy to the office." "All right," answered Davies, "I'll let you have it in a brace of shakes." Off he dashed ostensibly for the Insolvent Court, then held in a room of the Court building; but in reality he hastened to the Gazette office, and showed no more at Court that day. Corp, as the evening advanced without any Davies, got into a towering passion, and swore vehemently that "he would give the other what he would not relish when he met him." On the adjournment of the Court he set forth in search of the absentee, and not finding him at the Gazette, hunted him up at home in Collingwood, where he regularly thrashed him, and recovered the judgment MS. Davies, though rather fond of troubling the Police Court on less feeling provocation, did not do so this time. Next day he laughed the matter off, and declared that instead of Corp having given him a hiding, "the boot was on the other leg;" but no one, knowing the two men, believed a word of it.
On the occasion of the departure of Mr. Justice Jeffcott in 1845, he was honoured with a farewell prandial celebration at the Royal Hotel, in Collins Street. There was a large fashionable gathering for the time, the Mayor (Mr. Henry Moor) presided, and Superintendent Latrobe was present. There was a great shindy over returning thanks for the Press. The Stewards had selected Cavenagh, of the Herald, as respondent; but when he was called on Kerr, of the Patriot, and M'Combie, of the Gazette, both jumped up and would not allow it, each claiming precedence. Immense uproar followed, and the Chairman's calls of "Order! Order!" were drowned in a hiccuping babel of half-drunken clamourings. Kerr, with a carving-knife, appeared as if he meditated spearing the Chairman. M*Combie was more persistent, and not so noisy, and, as the representative of the senior newspaper, would insist on a hearing; but to no purpose. M'Combie, with his eyes doggedly fixed on the table, maundered and mumbled, and remained immovable until his reporter (Davies), who was sitting next, seized him by the skirt of a swallow-tailed coat, thundered in his ear, "Sit down you —————— fool," and gave a tremendous pull, which not only brought the recalcitrant orator on his beam-ends, but tore off one of the coat-tails, which Davies retained as a trophy.
I was once at a dinner in Smith's old Queen Street Theatre, when a highly-respected salesman (long out of the world) was down for a leading toast. He had his printed speech rolled like a tape around his finger, intending to use it as a prompter. He was well on in the drinking way, and drawing off the oration, as if a loose glove finger, he placed it by him on the table whilst having another glass "to keep his pecker up" during the approaching word ordeal. "Jack" Davies picked up the invaluable roll, and secreted it, whilst the other was descanting; and when the literary bairn was missed, the distress of the parent was irresistibly comical, "Oh," he piteously whined, "where's my speech? I'd wager that some blackguard reporter, Curtis, Davies, or Finn, has got it;" and then, addressing the trio sitting and laughing near him, he yearningly besought them if they knew anything of it to return it, for a joke was a joke, and he would not "bear" such fun any longer. Bluster or bounce, wheedling or coaxing was equally powerless in obtaining a restoration, and so the speaker, after a very stammering exhibition, hastily gave the toast, and sat down in a condition of much confusion. Next morning a full report of the abducted oration was published.
The First Civic Dinner.
In 1854, Mr. John Hodgson, then Mayor of Melbourne, gave a grand civic entertainment at the Criterion (nee the Royal Hotel), Collins Street, Sam Moss, proprietor, in honour of the recently arrived Governor, Sir Charles Hotham. The large room was filled by all the city notabilities, and a capital feed and plenty to drink produced general good humour, for it was one of the three wild years of the olden time; and as an entertainment of the sort, would cost from three to four guineas per head, many of those who went there were resolved to have the money's worth, no matter whether it was the Mayor's cash or not. The following is the menu carte:—
| Soup.— | Fillets of Beef, aux Truffles | |
| A la Reine; Julienne | Chartreuse of Wild Pigeon | |
| Mock Turtle, à l'Anglaise Sherry. | Chevaliere des Poulets Bigarré | |
| Fish.— | Epigramme d'Agneau aux Petits Pois | |
| Baked, à la Domestique; Stewed, à la Royale | Still and Sparkling Hock, and Champagne | |
| Ditto, au Maréchal. | Roast Teal | |
| Entremets and Roti.— | Salad, à la Criterion; Ditto of Lettuce ; Ditto of Celery. | |
| Roast Turkey, au Prince of Wales | Dessert.— | |
| Ditto, ditto, à la Henry VIII. | Pudding au Royale; Plum ditto à l'Anglaise | |
| Ditto, ditto, au Wellington | Blanc Mange, Home Recollections | |
| Roast Goose, au Naturel | Ditto, ditto, April Smiles | |
| Ditto, ditto, à la Native | Jelly, Golden Age | |
| Roast Fowl, au Monument | Ditto, "Lead On," Hock, Sherry, and Madeira. | |
| Ditto, ditto, à la Cannonade | Fruits.— | |
| Saddle of Mutton, au John Bull | Apples, Oranges, Almonds, Raisins, Figs, &c. | |
| Vol au Vent, à la Financière | Port, Claret, and Sherry; Coffee. |
One of the most laughable mêlées imaginable occurred at a house-warming once given at an hostelry known as the Commercial Inn, situated where Rocke and Co.'s large furnishing establishment now stands in East Collins Street. The host was a Mr. Phillip Anderson, a red-faced, bluff-looking, blunt, good-natured Caledonian. The place had recently undergone considerable improvements, the principal being the addition of a large room, and to duly inaugurate the auspicious event, "Phil" summoned a gathering of the clans to a free dinner, the liquors to be paid for. The invitation was freely responded to, so the place was crowded. Amongst the guests were the then three reporters, Messrs. Corp, Curtis, and Finn for the Patriot, Gazette, and Herald, not for the purpose of enlightening the world with any account of the festivities, but to enjoy themselves as private individuals. After the cloth was removed, the drinking was carried on in such style as almost to put to the blush the great Scotch carousing festival known as the Hogmanay. None of your modern mixtures, no griping "half-and-half," or "two ales," none of the sickening wines then known as "black strap," or "gooseberry," but whisky, brandy, and rum, either "neat," or sparingly attempered with Yarra water. By 10 o'clock the place was a roaring intoxicated Bedlam, talking and shouting, and disputing, and amongst those in the most advanced stage of elevation was Curtis. Curiosity as to what was to come enforced a temporary silence, when Curtis, with a most insinuating smile, and with the graceful and gentlemanly manner which he could, when he so wished, assume, informed the Chairman that he was so intensely charmed by the hospitality with which he had been treated by his Scottish fellow colonists on that very pleasant night, he would, if permitted, endeavour to contribute to their enjoyment by treating them to a highly fashionable dance which had caused quite a furore in London just before he had left, and had never, so far as he was aware, been danced in the colonies. But in order that all may have an opportunity of beholding the peculiar movements, it would be necessary for him to ascend a table for the purpose. The proclamation of a Curtis dance was such an unexpected novelty that the assemblage broke out into thunders of applause, and one of the tables was rapidly cleared of its glassware. Curtis, stripping off his boots, was up in a jiffey, when the applause was renewed with increased vigour, the débutant, if not blushing, indulging in the most profound obeisances and genuflexions. The dance in which he was going to exhibit was a Caledonian strathspey, and the instrument he would play on was a Scotch fiddle. He immediately commenced to cut the most grotesque capers, jumping and kicking, and posturing in a manner unknown to any phase of the Terpsichorean Art, all the time grinding on the "Scotch Fiddle," which was simply working the index finger of the right hand like a fiddle-bow. The excited Scotchmen stared with open mouths and blank amazement, not clearly comprehending the drift of what was going on, many of them dimly fancying that a madman was playing antics before them. At length Curtis' feet and violin both came suddenly to a full stop, when he burst into a wild fit of horse-laughter, and roared at the highest pitch of voice he could command, "You Scotch loons, you drunken sweeps, down on your marrow-bones, and pray, 'God bless the Duke of Argyle.'" To persons not versed in slang it may be necessary, to enable them to estimate the unpardonable offence committed, to explain that the phrase, "Scotch Fiddle," had a supposed reference to a vulgar insinuation originating at a period when England and Scotland were engaged in internecine feuds, that an unchanged oatmeal diet so cutaneously affected those who dwelt north of the Tweed as to require the finger-friction of the "Scotch Fiddle" to alleviate some of the symptoms. The appeal on behalf of the Duke of Argyle is connected with the same tradition, as a member of that noble house once had erected a number of iron posts in Glasgow to indicate the boundaries of his property, which uprights were made a "double debt to pay," by the poorer classes of the townfolk using them as auxiliaries of the "Scotch Fiddle," i.e., scratching against them. The Scotchmen were so astounded at the audacity that for a minute or so they did not well know how to act. The point of the grossly offensive joke was impervious to many of them, but it soon went the round of the circle, and there were loud shouts of "Kick Curtis out." The spectacle at length was so irresistibly ludicrous that a loud involuntary expression of laughter ensued, and half-a-dozen lubberly fellows were meditating a rush upon the offender, when the Chairman and a few others good-humouredly interposed, and the result was that Curtis was to be forgiven if he made an unqualified and humble apology. He consented to the terms of compromise, and as a tipsy orator I never knew but one (a certain modern Member of Parliament) to even approach him. He was a capital extempore speaker, the drunker (provided he could only keep on his feet) the better, and he now burst forth in a really eloquent and even pathetic strain. He lauded the land of the Thistle and everything belonging to it to the skies, declared that like Byron, he was a half-blooded Scotian himself, and there was no land under heaven whose sons, both at home and abroad, had ever so distinguished themselves in art and science, law and literature, peace and war, by their genius, acquirements, erudition, diplomacy, and bravery; and as pioneers of a new country like Port Phillip, their industry, honesty, and thrift sent them far ahead of all other colonists. The three greatest personages know to him in ancient or modern history, whose memory he carried round him in a halo of hero-worship, were Rob Roy, Robbie Burns, and John Barleycorn. As for the last-named individual, he invented a beverage, beside which the so much poetised Ambrosia of Olympus tasted but as ditch-water, and though the bequeather of such a legacy might be forgotten in the rush of years, so long as a shred of civilization remained, whisky would continue to be one of the chief solacers of the great family of mankind. As to the fantasia he had executed on the "Scotch fiddle," it was meant as a good-natured joke, for he had no dearer or more esteemed friends on earth than the proprietors of some of the jolly faces he saw around him. If they wished for an apology where no affront was intended, they might have it a thousandfold, and his best wishes thrown in as a tilly.
Cavenagh, the proprietor of the Herald, always detested Curtis, and would never have anything to do with him, so though he had been connected at some time, more or less, with every other journal, he never figured on the Herald until after the gold discoveries. Even then it was with much reluctance Cavenagh would engage him, and only did so after the persistent representations of Finn, who was only too glad to put in a good word for an old friend, by this time given up by the other papers, and driven to his wits' end to make both ends meet, especially as he had taken it into his head to get married, and had more than himself to look out for. At last it approached the crisis and Cavenagh saith: "But Curtis is such a consummate scamp and confounded liar that I cannot consent to employ him on the Herald. Besides, see how the fellow in past times used to blackguard me in the Courier, the Albion, and the Daily News. How can you expect a mortal man to forget all that?" Curtis was installed on the Herald, through Finn's intercession, and so remained for several years, until he grew so outrageously unmanageable that Mr. F. B. Franklyn, who succeeded Cavenagh, was compelled to discharge him.
Curtis and the Missionary Doctor.
The first City Missionary in Melbourne was a nondescript looking old worthy, who flourished in the early years of the gold mania. He had an inside breast pocket to his coat, in which there was as much storage as a moderate-sized carpet bag, and here he had put away as travelling baggage a small copy of the New Testament, a well-thumbed Prayer Book, a number of tracts, and odds and ends, with an assortment of pills, which in his belief excelled the Egyptian miracles of Cagliostro. Between his fingers he usually paraded a card inscribed "The Reverend John L. Milton," but he soon got to be universally known as "the Doctor." I never could learn in what University or College he took his degree, or whether he was a D.D., M.D., L.L.D., or Mus. D.; but that he was "Doctor Milton" with the public, the publicans and sinners, the Magistrates, the Police, and the reporters was an accomplished fact. He was an almost constant visitor at the watchhouses, where he had the entré every hour of the twenty-four, waged open war upon the public-houses, and professed himself a reclaimer of fallen women. In the latter respect he went so far as to open a Refuge in a cottage in Spring Street, a few doors southward of the White Hart Hotel, where he soon got together half-a-dozen rescued lambs," a small flock out of which he netted considerable capital, for he made the establishment pay also. Occasional scandalous whisperings flew abroad in connection with this "Asylum," but in this respect I believe they were utterly groundless. With Finn, of the Herald, he was on the most cordial terms; but Curtis, of the Daily News, and he were often at drawn daggers, and sometimes in the public streets there would be a stiff scolding encounter between them. The Doctor on cold water was never an equal for Curtis on rum and no water. Milton would shake his head, uplift his hands, and protest that the other was a child of Belial, a man of sin, a lost soul, a vessel of unrighteousness-while Curtis would retort on him as a villainous old impostor, a hoary fraud, a thundering hypocrite, whose grey beard would yet descend in sorrow to the grave. In 1856, the Doctor, at much trouble and some outlay, got up a temperance demonstration at the Mechanics' Institute. Placards and advertisements were not spared, and through brisk beating up there was an assemblage of some hundreds. The newspapers were rather sick of the great temperance missionary, and the reporters attending the meetings had each instructions to cut down the affair to short paragraphs. There were three of them there, including Curtis, in anything but a teetotal condition. Prior to the commencement of business, Milton, approaching the Press table, expressed a hope that as the meeting would undoubtedly be a marked success, a lengthy report would be published the next morning, and if favoured so far this time, he should never forget it. Curtis led Milton to believe that each newspaper would give a four-column report of the proceedings, and the reporters would consequently be engaged the greater part of the night in writing out their reports. If they were supplied with suitable refreshments the published reports would be considerably the better for it, and if the doctor would cash out for such a good purpose the great cause he had so much at heart would be immensely the gainer. The plausibility of the Curtis "gammoning" so worked upon Milton that he actually slipped Curtis three sovereigns-one each for the fellows who were to do such wonders. When the conference concluded Curtis rejoined his friends, and requested that whenever Milton looked towards them during the proceedings to pretend to be working zealously with their pencil-scratching, for a reason he would afterwards detail to them. Returning from the meeting, Curtis informed his colleagues of what has been related, who, hastening with their paragraphs to their respective offices, gave them in, and then repaired to a favourite tavern where they had a sumptuous supper and made a night of it, at the Doctor's expense, in more than one sense of the phrase. When Milton, next day, eagerly consulted the newspapers, he could not believe his eyes, for in lieu of four columns, there was something like a four-line notice in each. He had been completely bitten, but he saw that, under the circumstances, to bear in silence was his best course; and he afterwards spoke bitterly whenever the "do" was jokingly referred to. He protested over and over that it was the most fraudulent and disgraceful transaction his experience had ever known in a world of sin and crime.
Finn and the Amateur Politician.
Previous to each Annual Licensing Session some of the reporters would gather in some gleanings; for a person applying for a new license, or the keeper of a tavern marked by the police, would retain the services of a newspaper man to prepare a memorial to the Bench. In 1855 an individual, whose cognomen commenced with a "P.," wealthy and well known, with more bank-notes than brains, conceived an ardent longing to secure a seat in the first Legislature of the colony. He meditated a raid upon a Western constituency, and believed that if he could get up a rousing speech, and deliver it well at meetings to be held throughout the district, he would carry the election. He conferred with Mr. Finn, of the Herald, and was frankly told not to make a fool of himself. The would-be senator indignantly replied that his mind was made up, and start he would, sink or swim, regardless of consequences; but I wish you to write me a speech, and show me how to speak it properly, and I will pay you well for it. "Very well, P——————," was the practical rejoinder, "My figure, and I have no second price, will be fifteen guineas for a speech, and five guineas for lessons in elocution, which latter mean showing you how to deliver it. But you are distinctly to understand that beyond supplying the speech, and doing all I can to try and make you master it, I have no further responsibility; and our bargain gives no claim whatever for any kind of puffing or support in the Herald. As to the result of the election, of which I entertain no manner of doubt, you must blame nobody but yourself." The terms were accepted, and an appointment made for the second day after, when the oration was to be out of the workman's hands, and a hint was dropped that as the debt was more one of honour than a legal contract, and might not be as easily recoverable as tailors' wages, the only handsome and proper way of doing the thing would be for the embryo legislator to bring the cash with him; and this was likewise agreed to. Both parties were up to time. The speech was ready, and P—————— was so delighted with the long-rounded periods, though understanding little of their meaning, as to protest that he was as sure of his election as that chalk is not cheese. The consideration was produced, and found its way into a strange pocket. But now an amusing hitch occurred. This P——————'s education was so limited that he could barely manage to sign a cheque, and read only large print. As to deciphering even large copper-plate writing, he could no more accomplish it than fly to the moon. The difficulty then was what was to be done. How could the speech be committed to memory if the orator was unable to read writing? The perplexity was at length resolved by Finn suggesting that it be printed confidentially at the Herald office. The other demurred, through an apprehension that it might get wind, when he should be the laughing-stock of the town; but he was pacified by the assurance that the other would personally see that the typography would be done in the most secret manner, that three copies only should be struck off, and the type would be then distributed. The copies were accordingly printed in the largest long primer that could be got, and when submitted to the candidate, it was ascertained that he could master all except the polysyllables, with which it was copiously interlarded, and these he climbed over by spelling. The rehearsals, which came off at Finn's house, were the most comically absurd exhibitions conceivable. The recruit was placed at one end of a room opposite a large mirror, and the work commenced. "Now," saith the drill-sergeant, "stand up straight, throw back your head, advance your breast as much as possible, press the floor as hard as you can with your heels, and by that attitude you will acquire an air of independence, and nothing tells better than that. Take this paper in your left hand, and hold it as far off as you can read; and though you cannot be considered a far-sighted individual, you are blessed with good optics, and can see well. Whenever you meet with a big word, roar it out as loud as you can, put on a half grin, clench your right fist, and let fly just as if you were in a prize fight, hitting out from the shoulder. Whenever you come to a full stop, flourish your right hand over your head, stamp with your left foot, and bow. Now, as you have never addressed an election meeting, I must supply you with some presence of mind, a confidence in yourself, or otherwise the jeering, and laughing, and shouting, and hissing, will put you off your chump, and then the game is up, for the only way to battle against election rowdyism is to keep your temper. Whatever may be said to you, mind you are not to get vexed. No telling a fellow 'he's a liar,' sending him to ——————, or promising to punch his head. Therefore, I shall laugh at and make fun of you, whilst you are getting through your speech, and you must not be vexed or offended, for I am only accustoming you to what is in store for you just as they break This absurd burlesque was in troopers' horses to stand fire by discharging pistols at their ears." continued for half-a-dozen times; and beyond tripping over the sesquipedalia verba, the political novice was tolerably well able to read aloud, and by continuous stewing, had portions of the oration by heart. One of the long primer slips he had sewed up as a reserve inside the lining of his coat. The triplicate I have before me as I write. At length he arrived at his destination, and the first meeting he addressed, though there was not a complete breakdown, he so distorted the language put into his mouth, and treated his hearers to such a version of their Mother-tongue, that he was almost unanimously adjudged to be non compos mentis. All the words over two syllables he murdered. Instead of "developing the resources" he promised to "envelop the discourses" of the colony. For "propelling the colony onward to her destined pinnacle of prosperity" he would "dispel her to a hastened clinicle of diversity." When treating of "the vast mineral treasures all nearly, as yet, reposing quietly in their undisturbed abodes," his rendering was "the fast general measures yearly disposing nightly in sequestrated lodes," and so on throughout. But the climax occurred when the rhetorician declared he would "discriminate" (assimilate) Victoria to the new world of Columbus." Some unmannerly listener asked him to spell "Columbus," whereat the candidate roared with rage, and promised when the meeting "germinated" (terminated) he would give the fellow such a "bussing" as would swell him to the size of an omnibus. However, the candidature was at an end, for Mr. P—————— was laughed out of the field.
As the General Election of 1856 approached, the Legislational rabies bit him again, and he would be a candidate for a constituency a few miles from Melbourne, where he said his merits were well-known, and would be appreciated accordingly. Once more he appeared before his political "coach," with an intimation that as he this time intended to be his own trainer, all he should require was a slashing preliminary address to the electors, the best article that could be manufactured, and he was prepared to pay a good price. There were then two members of the Bar, who have been since Knighted, Sir W. F. Stawell and Sir A. Michie, upon whom he had what is colonially termed a mortal "down." Why he abhorred Mr. Stawell I could never elicit from him, unless, perhaps, it was because he was Attorney-General; but his grudge against Mr. Michie arose from the fact of that gentleman once appearing against him in some Supreme Court cause to which he was a party, when he had a taste of the learned gentleman's bitterly sarcastic tongue. At all events he was now absorbed by two desires, viz., that his address should be better than Stawell's; and that he might live to see the day when he would be able to meet Michie on the "floor of the Houses," and then and there have it out with him. These two yearnings satisfied, he would be almost willing to lie down and die contentedly. He was again told he was befooling himself, and there was no chance of his election; but the answer was he knew better; that was his business, and if he could not obtain the required commodity—for which he was prepared to pay a high figure—he should go elsewhere, and could no doubt be suited. He preferred, however, to deal with his old friend if he was ready to undertake the job. He liked his style of work, and made him the first offer. The result was that a bargain was clinched between them, and for £20 Mr. P—————— was to obtain an election address of the Al brand, but beyond supplying it and getting paid, the writer washed his hands of all further responsibility. By the end of the week the document appeared in the Melbourne newspapers, subscribed by the illiterate aspirant. It was read and laughed at, but no one was found to assert that it was not well done. It was a right thing perched over a wrong name, an anomaly which caused infinite diversion. But the best of the joke was that when Stawell's address to the electors of Melbourne appeared, the Age, in overhauling it, actually expressed regret that the Attorney-General had not sought the literary assistance of the scribe by whom the P—————— manifesto had been prepared. This intensely delighted Mr. P——————, and the address-maker was very much tickled by the Age unconsciously testifying to the fulfilment of the stipulation originally suggested by his customer.