MELBOURNE.
FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF MELBOURNE--SURVEY OF THE CITY--THE
STREETS--COLLINS STREET--THE TRAFFIC--NEWNESS AND YOUNGNESS OF
MELBOURNE--ABSENCE OF BEGGARS--MELBOURNE AN ENGLISH CITY--THE CHINESE
QUARTER--THE PUBLIC LIBRARY--PENTRIDGE PRISON--THE YARRA RIVER--ST.
KILDA--SOCIAL EXPERIENCES IN MELBOURNE--A MARRIAGE BALL--MELBOURNE
LADIES--VISIT TO A SERIOUS FAMILY.
I arrive in Melbourne towards evening, and on stepping out of the
railway-train find myself amidst a glare of gas lamps. Outside the
station the streets are all lit up, the shops are brilliant with
light, and well-dressed people are moving briskly about.
What is this large building in Bourke Street, with the crowd standing
about? It is the Royal Theatre. A large stone-faced hall inside the
portico, surrounded by bars brilliantly lit, is filled with young men
in groups lounging about, talking and laughing. At the further end of
the vestibule are the entrances to the different parts of the house.
Further up the same street, I come upon a large market-place, in a
blaze of light, where crowds of people are moving about, buying
vegetables, fruit, meat, and such like. At the further end of the
street the din and bustle are less, and I see a large structure
standing in an open space, looking black against the starlit sky. I
afterwards find that it is the Parliament House.
Such is my first introduction to Melbourne. It is evidently a place
stirring with life. After strolling through some of the larger
streets, and everywhere observing the same indications of wealth, and
traffic, and population, I took the train for Sandridge, and slept a
good sound sleep in my bunk on board the 'Yorkshire' for the last
time.
Next morning I returned to Melbourne in the broad daylight, when I was
able to make a more deliberate survey of the city. I was struck by the
width and regularity of some of the larger streets, and by the
admirable manner in which they are paved and kept. The whole town
seems to have been laid out on a systematic plan, which some might
think even too regular and uniform. But the undulating nature of the
ground on which the city is built serves to correct this defect, if
defect it be.
The streets are mostly laid out at right angles; broad streets one
way, and alternate broad and narrow streets crossing them. Collins and
Bourke Streets are, perhaps, the finest. The view from the high
ground, at one end of Collins Street, looking down the hollow of the
road, and right away up the hill on the other side, is very striking.
This grand street, of great width, is probably not less than a mile
long. On either side are the principal bank buildings, tall and
handsome. Just a little way up the hill, on the further side, is a
magnificent white palace-like structure, with a richly ornamented
facade and tower. That is the New Town Hall. Higher up is a fine
church spire, and beyond it a red brick tower, pricked out with
yellow, standing in bold relief against the clear blue sky. You can
just see Bourke and Wills' monument there, in the centre of the
roadway. And at the very end of the perspective, the handsome grey
front of the Treasury bounds the view.
Amongst the peculiarities of the Melbourne streets are the deep, broad
stone gutters, on either side of the roadway, evidently intended for
the passage of a very large quantity of water in the rainy season.
They are so broad as to render it necessary to throw little wooden
bridges over them at the street-crossings. I was told that these open
gutters are considered by no means promotive of the health of the
inhabitants, which one can readily believe; and it is probable that
before long they will be covered up.
Walk over Collins and Bourke Street at nine or ten in the morning, and
you meet the business men of Melbourne on their way from the
railway-station to their offices in town: for the greater number of
them, as in London, live in the suburbs. The shops are all open,
everything looking bright and clean. Pass along the same streets in
the afternoon, and you will find gaily-dressed ladies flocking the
pathways. The shops are bustling with customers. There are many
private carriages to be seen, with two-wheeled cars, on which the
passengers sit back to back, these (with the omnibuses) being the
public conveyances of Melbourne. Collins Street may be regarded as the
favourite promenade; more particularly between three and four in the
afternoon, when shopping is merely the excuse of its numerous
fashionable frequenters.
One thing struck me especially--the very few old or grey-haired people
one meets with in the streets of Melbourne. They are mostly young
people; and there are comparatively few who have got beyond the middle
stage of life. And no wonder. For how young a city Melbourne is! Forty
years since there was not a house in the place.
Where the Melbourne University now stands, a few miserable Australian
blacks would meet and hold a corroboree; but, except it might be a
refugee bush-ranger from Sydney, there was not a white man in all
Victoria. The first settler, John Batman,[3] arrived in the harbour
of Port Phillip as recently as the year 1835, since which time the
colony has been planted, the city of Melbourne has been built, and
Victoria covered with farms, mines, towns, and people. When Sir Thomas
Mitchell first visited the colony in 1836, though comprehending an
area of more than a hundred thousand square miles, it did not contain
200 white people. In 1845 the population had grown to 32,000;
Melbourne had been founded, and was beginning to grow rapidly; now it
contains a population of about 200,000 souls, and is already the
greatest city in the Southern Hemisphere.
No wonder, therefore, that the population of Melbourne should be
young. It consists for the most part of immigrants from Great Britain
and other countries,--of men and women in the prime of life,--pushing,
enterprising, energetic people. Nor is the stream of immigration
likely to stop soon. The land in the interior is not one-tenth part
occupied; and "the cry is, still they come." Indeed many think the
immigrants do not come quickly enough. Every ship brings a fresh
batch; and the "new chums" may be readily known, as they assemble in
knots at the corners of the streets, by their ruddy colour, their
gaping curiosity, and their home looks.
Another thing that strikes me in Melbourne is this,--that I have not
seen a beggar in the place. There is work for everybody who will work;
so there is no excuse for begging. A great many young fellows who come
out here no doubt do not meet with the fortune they think they
deserve. They expected that a few good letters of introduction were
all that was necessary to enable them to succeed. But they are soon
undeceived. They must strip to work, if they would do any good. Mere
clerks, who can write and add up figures, are of no use; the colony is
over-stocked with them. But if they are handy, ready to work, and
willing to turn their hand to anything, they need never be without the
means of honest living.
In many respects Melbourne is very like home. It looks like a slice of
England transplanted here, only everything looks fresher and newer. Go
into Fitzroy or Carlton Gardens in the morning, and you will see
almost the self-same nurses and children that you saw in the Parks in
London. At dusk you see the same sort of courting couples mooning
about, not knowing what next to say. In the streets you see a corps of
rifle volunteers marching along, just as at home, on Saturday
afternoons. Down at Sandridge you see the cheap-trip steamer, decked
with flags, taking a boat-load of excursionists down the bay to some
Australian Margate or Ramsgate. On the wooden pier the same
steam-cranes are at work, loading and unloading trucks.
One thing, however, there is at Melbourne that you cannot see in any
town in England, and that is the Chinese quarter. There the streets
are narrower and dirtier than anywhere else, and you see the
yellow-faced folks stand jabbering at their doors--a very novel sight.
The Chinamen, notwithstanding the poll-tax originally imposed on them
of 10_l._ a head, have come into Victoria in large and increasing
numbers, and before long they threaten to become a great power in the
colony. They are a very hardworking, but, it must be confessed, a very
low class, dirty people.
Though many of the Chinamen give up their native dress and adopt the
European costume, more particularly the billycock hat, there is one
part of their belongings that they do not part with even in the last
extremity--and that is their tail. They may hide it away in their
billycock or in the collar of their coat; but, depend upon it, the
tail is there. My friend, the doctor of the 'Yorkshire,' being a
hunter after natural curiosities, had, amongst other things, a great
ambition to possess himself of a Chinaman's tail. One day, walking up
Collins Street, I met my enthusiastic friend. He recognised me, and
waved something about frantically that he had in his hand. "I've got
it! I've got it!" he exclaimed, in a highly excited manner. "What have
you got?" I asked, wondering. "Come in here," said he, "and I'll show
it you." We turned into a bar, when he carefully undid his parcel, and
exposed to view a long black thing. "What _is_ it?" I asked. "A
Chinaman's pigtail, of course," said he, triumphantly; "and a very
rare curiosity it is, I can assure you."
Among the public institutes of Melbourne one of the finest is the
Public Library, already containing, I was told, about 80,000 volumes.
It is really a Library for the People, and a noble one too. So far as
I can learn, there is nothing yet in England that can be compared
with it.[4] Working men come here, and read at their leisure
scientific books, historical books, or whatever they may desire. They
may come in their working dress, signing their names on entering, the
only condition required of them being quietness and good behaviour.
About five hundred readers use the library daily.
Nor must I forget the Victorian collection of pictures, in the same
building as the Public Library. The galleries are good, and contain
many attractive paintings. Amongst them I noticed Goodall's 'Rachel at
the Well,' Cope's 'Pilgrim Fathers' (a replica), and some excellent
specimens of Chevalier, a rising colonial artist.
The Post Office is another splendid building, one of the most
commodious institutions of the kind in the world. There the arrival of
each mail from England is announced by the hoisting of a large red
flag, with the letter A (arrival).
In evidence of the advanced "civilization" of Melbourne, let me also
describe a visit which I paid to its gaol. But it is more than a gaol,
for it is the great penal establishment of the colony. The prison at
Pentridge is about eight miles from Melbourne. Accompanied by a
friend, I was driven thither in a covered car along a very dusty but
well-kept road. Alighting at the castle-like entrance to the
principal courtyard, we passed through a small doorway, behind which
was a strong iron-bar gate, always kept locked, and watched by a
warder. The gate was unlocked, and we shortly found ourselves in the
great prison area, in the presence of sundry men in grey prison
uniform, with heavy irons on. Passing across the large clean yard, we
make for a gate in the high granite wall at its further side. A key is
let down to us by the warder, who is keeping armed watch in his
sentry-box on the top of the wall. We use it, let ourselves in, lock
the door, and the key is hauled up again.
We enter the female prison, where we are shown the cells, each with
its small table and neatly-folded mattress. On the table is a Bible
and Prayer-book, and sometimes a third book for amusement or
instruction. In some of the cells, where the inmates are learning to
read and write, there is a spelling primer and a copybook for
pothooks. The female prisoners are not in their cells, but we shortly
after find them assembled in a large room above, seated and at work.
They all rose at our entrance, and I had a good look at their faces.
There was not a single decent honest face amongst them. They were
mostly heavy, square-jawed, hard-looking women. Judging by their
faces, vice and ugliness would seem to be pretty nearly akin.
We were next taken to the centre of the prison, from which we looked
down upon the narrow, high-walled yards, in which the prisoners
condemned to solitary confinement take their exercise. These yards
all radiate from a small tower, in which a warder is stationed,
carefully watching the proceedings below.
We shortly saw the prisoners of Department A coming in from their
exercise in the yard. Each wore a white mask on his face with eyeholes
in it; and no prisoner must approach another nearer than five yards,
at risk of severe punishment. The procession was a very dismal one. In
the half-light of the prison they marched silently on one by one, with
their faces hidden, each touching his cap as he passed.
Department B came next. The men here do not work in their separate
cells, like the others, but go out to work in gangs, guarded by armed
warders. The door of each cell throughout the prison has a small hole
in it, through which the warders, who move about the galleries in list
shoes, can peep in, and, unknown to the prisoner, see what he is
about.
Both male and female prisons have Black Holes attached to them for the
solitary confinement of the refractory. Dreadful places they look:
small cells about ten feet by four, into which not a particle of light
is admitted. Three thick doors, one within another, render it
impossible for the prisoner inside to make himself heard without.
Next comes Department C, in which the men finish their time. Here many
sleep in one room, always under strict watch, being employed during
the day at their respective trades, or going out in gangs to work in
the fields connected with the establishment. Connected with this
department is a considerable factory, with spinning-machines,
weaving-frames, and dye vats; the whole of the clothes and blankets
used in the gaol being made by the prisoners, as well as the blankets
supplied by the Government to the natives. Adjoining are blacksmiths'
shops, where manacles are forged; shoemakers' shops; tailors' shops; a
bookbinder's shop, where the gaol books are bound; and shops for
various other crafts.
The prison library is very well furnished with books. Dickens's and
Trollope's works are there, and I saw a well-read copy of 'Self-Help,'
though it was doubtless through a very different sort of self-help
that most of the prisoners who perused it had got there.
Last of all, we saw the men searched on coming in from their work in
the fields, or in the different workshops. They all stood in a line
while the warder passed his hands down their bodies and legs, and
looked into their hats. Then he turned to a basin of water standing
by, and carefully washed his hands.
There were about 700 prisoners of both sexes in the gaol when we
visited it. I was told that the walls of the prison enclose an area of
132 acres, so that there is abundance of space for all kinds of work.
On the whole it was a very interesting, but at the same time a sad
sight.
I think very little of the River Yarra Yarra, on which Melbourne is
situated. It is a muddy, grey-coloured stream, very unpicturesque. It
has, however, one great advantage over most other Australian rivers,
as indicated by its name, which in the native language means the
"ever-flowing;" many of the creeks and rivers in Australia being dry
in summer. I hired a boat for the purpose of a row up the Yarra. A
little above the city its banks are pretty and ornamental, especially
where it passes the Botanic Gardens, which are beautifully laid out,
and well stocked with India-rubber plants, gum-trees, and magnificent
specimens of the Southern fauna. Higher up, the river--though its
banks continue green--becomes more monotonous, and we soon dropped
back to Melbourne with the stream.
It is the seaside of Melbourne that is by far the most
interesting,--Williamstown, with its shipping; but more especially the
pretty suburbs, rapidly growing into towns, along the shores of the
Bay of Port Phillip--such as St. Kilda, Elsternwick, Brighton, and
Cheltenham. You see how they preserve the old country names. St. Kilda
is the nearest to Melbourne, being only about three miles distant by
rail, and it is the favourite resort of the Melbourne people. Indeed,
many of the first-class business men reside there, just as Londoners
do at Blackheath and Forest Hill. The esplanade along the beach is a
fine promenade, and the bathing along shore is exceedingly good. There
are large enclosures for bathers, surrounded by wooden piles; above
the enclosure, raised high on platforms, are commodious
dressing-rooms, where, instead of being cooped up in an uncomfortable
bathing-machine, you may have a lounge outside in the bright sunshine
while you dress. The water is a clear blue, and there is a sandy
bottom sloping down from the shore into any depth,--a glorious
opportunity for swimmers!
I must now tell you something of my social experiences in Melbourne.
Thanks to friends at home, I had been plentifully supplied with
letters of introduction to people in the colony. When I spoke of these
to old colonials in the 'Yorkshire,' I was told that they were "no
good"--no better than so many "tickets for soup," if worth even that.
I was, therefore, quite prepared for a cool reception; but,
nevertheless, took the opportunity of delivering my letters shortly
after landing.
So far from being received with coldness, I was received with the
greatest kindness wherever I went. People who had never seen me
before, and who knew nothing of me or my family, gave me a welcome
that was genuine, frank, and hearty in the extreme. My letters, I
found, were far more than "tickets for soup." They introduced me to
pleasant companions and kind friends, who entertained me hospitably,
enabled me to pass my time pleasantly, and gave me much practical good
advice. Indeed, so far as my experience goes, the hospitality of
Victoria ought to become proverbial.
One of the first visits I made was to a recent school-fellow of mine
at Geneva. I found him at work in a bank, and astonished him very much
by the suddenness of my appearance. He was most kind to me during my
stay in Melbourne, as well as all his family, to whom I owed a
succession of kindnesses which I can never forget.
I shall always retain a pleasant recollection of a marriage festivity
to which I was invited within a week after my arrival. A ball was
given in the evening, at which about 300 persons were present--the
_elite_ of Melbourne society. It was held in a large marquee, with a
splendid floor, and ample space for dancing. Everything was ordered
very much the same as at home. The dresses of the ladies seemed more
costly, the music was probably not so good, though very fair, and the
supper rather better. I fancy there was no "contract champagne" at
that ball.
One thing I must remark about the ladies--they seemed to me somehow a
little different in appearance. Indeed, when I first landed, I fancied
I saw a slightly worn look, a want of freshness, in the people
generally. They told me there that it is the effect of the dry
Australian climate and the long summer heat, native-born Australians
having a tendency to grow thin and lathy. Not that there was any want
of beauty about the Melbourne girls, or that they were not up to the
mark in personal appearance. On the contrary, there was quite a bevy
of belles, some of them extremely pretty girls, most tastefully
dressed, and I thought the twelve bridesmaids, in white silk trimmed
with blue, looked charming.
I spent a very pleasant evening with this gay company, and had my fill
of dancing after my long privation at sea. When I began to step out,
the room seemed to be in motion. I had got so accustomed to the roll
of the ship that I still felt unsteady, and when I put my foot down it
went further than I expected before it touched the floor. But I soon
got quit of my sea legs, which I had so much difficulty in finding.
Before concluding my few Melbourne experiences, I will mention another
of a very different character from the above. I was invited to spend
the following Saturday and Sunday with a gentleman and his family. I
was punctual to my appointment, and was driven by my carman up to the
door of a new house in a very pretty situation. I was shown into the
drawing-room, where I waited some time for the mistress of the house
to make her appearance. She was a matronly person, with a bland smile
on her countenance. Her dress was of a uniform grey, with trimmings of
the same colour. We tried conversation, but somehow it failed. I fear
my remarks were more meaningless than usual on such occasions.
Certainly the lady and I did not hit it at all. She asked me if I had
heard such and such a Scotch minister, or had read somebody's sermons
which she named? Alas! I had not so much as heard of their names.
Judging by her looks, she must have thought me an ignoramus. For a
mortal hour we sat together, almost in silence, her eyes occasionally
directed full upon me. We were for the moment relieved by the entrance
of a young lady, one of the daughters of the house, who was introduced
to me. But, alas! we got on no better than before. The young lady sat
with downcast eyes, intent upon her knitting, though I saw that her
eyes were black, and that she was pretty.
Then the master of the house came home, and we had dinner in a quiet,
sober fashion. In the evening the lady and I made a few further
efforts at conversation. I was looking at the books on the
drawing-room table, when she all at once brightened up, and
asked--"Have you ever heard of Robbie Burns?" I answered (I fear
rather chaffingly) that "I had once heard there was such a person."
"Have you, tho'?" said the lady, relapsing into crochet. The gentleman
went off to sleep, and the young lady continued absorbed in her
knitting. A little later in the evening the hostess made a further
effort. "Have you ever tasted whisky toddy?" To which I answered,
"Yes, once or twice," at which she seemed astonished. But the whisky
toddy, which might have put a little spirit into the evening, did not
make its appearance. The subject of the recent marriage festivity
having come up, the lady was amazed to find I had been there, and that
I was fond of dancing! I fear this sent me down a great many more pegs
in her estimation. In fact, my evening was a total failure, and I was
glad to get to bed--though it was an immense expanse of bed, big
enough for a dozen people.
To make a long story short, next morning I went with the family to
"the kirk," heard an awfully long sermon, during which I nipped my
fingers to keep myself awake; and as soon as I could I made my escape
back to my lodgings, very well pleased to get away, but feeling that I
must have left a very unfavourable impression upon the minds of my
worthy entertainers.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 3: Mr. Batman died in September, 1869, at the age of 77, and
his funeral was one of the largest ever seen in Melbourne. This
"father of Melbourne" kept the first store, and published the first
newspaper in the settlement.]
[Footnote 4: The public library was inaugurated under Mr. La Trobe's
Government in 1853, when 4,000_l._ was voted for books and an edifice.
The sum was doubled in the following year, and greatly increased in
succeeding years. In 1863, 40,000_l._ of public money had been
expended on the building, and 30,000_l._ on the library.]