In December, 1855, I accepted an engagement as scenic artist from the agent of Lola Montez to stock the theatre known as the Victoria, Main-road, Ballarat, with scenery for her first appearance there, and accordingly, by the Geelong steam and coach route proceeded thither. People talk of the badness of the present times, and how rosy things were in those fabulous days, fabulous truly, for although I had started in a fair way of business in Melbourne, with a good stock in trade, I found it harder then than now to realise. Of course weight must be allowed for age and no grey hairs had at that epoch salted my ambrosial looks, nor crows' feet disfigured 'my prepossessing physiognomy. Alliterative and egotistical; but as I have to tell a story of my own personal experience, the predominating ego scarcely calls for an apology.

Scarcely necessary also to describe my journey by the boat from Melbourne to Geelong, for the railway from the Pivot was only in contemplation, nor my sojourn in that then busy, populous, and enterprising city, when Deering, the actor, was mayor, and James Simmonds, comedian and author of "Let us speak of a man as we find him," lessee of the theatre.

Par parenthese, I attended the obsequies of the former soon after in Ballarat, and the latter about eighteen months ago in Auckland, New Zealand. Tempus edax rerum [time, that devours all things], time-honored latinity of my youth, how earnestly truthful most of thy dogmatic edicts are!

Scarcely necessary either to allude to the excruciating joltings of the springless vehicle, with the questionably-fed and miserably-bred quadrupeds, which, after our start from town, dragged us onward to our destination. Lame Bradley! Shepherd cabbage-tree Ned! Bold Jehus of those ill-starred cattle where are ye now? By the way, I may as well here record a truthful anecdote of Bradley the bold, that most daring — not to say desperate — driver while it occurs to me. Gentle reader, I deprecated the ego, allow me to include the discursive; if anything further should call for self-condemnation, in this literary composition, as not up to the mark of Lord Macauly, Lingard, Carlisle, or Charles Lamb, allow the word deprecate in italics to stand for an apology. So being spiritually affinitised — new word, all my own, as Dunn or Peebles would say, if they could — we shall, I hope, jog merrily along.

A good thing was being done, fares high, and profits large; consequently opposition was soon organised to secure a portion of the plunder. Bradley — a man fond of a chance game of "poker" or "loo," which he sometimes played with his six-shooter on the table, according to his company, and not unaddicted to "Drink hearty boys" or "Here's luck" — was bested once, and once only by the opposition. This called forth a stern rebuke from B.D., who, consulting his watch, observed that he was several eternities after time, and might drive himself to — — , well, never mind; deprecate.

This put Brad, as he was familiarly termed by his associates, upon his metal, and next day as the proprietor was chewing the gloomy end of a bad cigar at his office door about half-past seven p.m.— the coach being due an hour later — his optics became suddenly distended in astonishment, to behold his vehicle, frightfully oscillating, turn the market square; the horses in a perfect foam, and, Brad gesticulating and yelling like a mad man. A bold British seaman, hanging on by the handrails, his legs by the impetus stretched out horizontally in the air was the only passenger.

As the coach finally recovered its equilibrium and consented to stop, Clarke "spit a spat" — original equal to Carlisle — turned his cud round leisurely in his digits, salivating it between whiles as Boa constrictors do their victims, and thus biled over -

"Why! Say! What on airth does this mean? One hol hour before time and only one darned (probably alluding to his stockings)infernal passenger!"

Can't say about passengers," was the cool rejoinder; "started full and got, the money. Guess I dropped 'em somehow on the road — all 'cept this darned (must have meant stockings) British tar, and he swore he stick to the ship until every plank was bust"

Calculate there's no fault to find about opposition licking us this time, anyhow."

Brad was retained, and I think - raised to a percentage on the profits.

To return — we reached "Magpie Gully early in the evening, four or five miles from Ballarat, and near the township now called Sebastopol. Seeing a placard announcing Joe Rave or, the juvenile tragedian, as Hamlet, that night, in a canvas theatre, with a powerful cast, W. M. Brown, I remember, being the ghost, first actor, and first grave-digger, I resolved to stay and witness the production of one of the nefarious and inspired deer-stalker's best plays. My most vivid recollection of the performance consists in the fact that the juvenile tragedian was at least five and forty, and that for Yorick's skull he held in his hand an unskinned and recently decapitated sheep's head. When he came down to the footlights, endeavoring as much as possible to conceal his burthen, and commenced, "Alas! poor Yorick, I knew him well, Horatio — an infuriated stickler for the niceties of Thespis shouted out, "It's a lie, boys, it's not Yorick, it's a "Jimmy!" The roar which followed this announcement, stopped the action of the play for a considerable length of time — the tragedian meantime holding infuriated recriminative dialogue with the first grave-digger — finally he indignantly flung his gory prop into Ophelia's grave, to the intense delight of the hairy, unwashed audience.

Next day to Ballarat where I delivered my credentials to Moody, Nicolla, Smith and Co., proprietors, I was shown around the theatre, a wooden structure, lined with canvas, and not a particle of decoration about it, either in front or behind the curtain, save the crimson drapery and gorgeous paraphernalia which the Wizard Jacobs, who was playing there delighted in. That genial and accomplished prestidigitator is no more, and the inimitable Sprightly has turned market gardener, and lives with his Marian in the wilds of Clapham or Camberwell. Sic transit gloria mundi. It happened to be race time, and the main road knee deep in dust was swarming with delving, trading, and holiday-making humanity. This locality was the centre of Ballarat civilisation in those days, and it was an extraordinary sight, one not likely to be seen again, to watch the moving crowd. The eager, hopeful, anticipative expression of the faces, the quaintness and variety of the costumes, and the feeling of equality which required no introduction to any man you met — these traits have disappeared for ever, civilisation has tyrannically introduced the amenities, proprieties, prunes, and prisms. But to be sure there were comparatively few churches then — no Good Templars, and men ran riot almost as badly as the unconverted New Zealander, or the untameable savages of Timbuctoo. I passed the morning strolling about, being met with an occasional "Joe!" because I was the envied wearer of a white bell-topper, a presumptuous covering peculiarly offensive to the diggers of those days — indeed, even now at a now rush, I should not advise its adoption by a new chum.

The hotel attached to the theatre called the United States, was a wooden structure, two stories high, and in one of its upper spacious apartments, about 9 x 4, I was duly installed. What a trade that place did, people swarming in and out, drinking, gambling, shouting, jelling, and fighting, all day long. But night was the time to see it in all its glory. Then, when the various places of amusement — for there were many besides the Victoria Theatre — were brilliantly illuminated with kerosene and oil, the diggers with their lanterns — simply constructed by sticking a piece of candle in the inverted neck of a bottle, the bottom having been previously knocked out — might be seen swarming down from the hills, coming up from the gullies and flats, and trooping in from every direction. About half-past 7 the fun began. Bellmen shouting out the various attractions of the different "shows" they were retained for, rival brass bands endeavoring to outblow each other, reckless horsemen plunging madly through the crowd returning from the races, and noisy greetings, loud oaths, scuffles, bounce, and nobblerising everywhere. We had three bands at the United States that night; one in the bar, composed of three German musicians, two women, and a man, who sung their native glees amidst the general hubbub with a composure marvellous to behold; a brass band on the balcony of six, blowing with all their might, and the orchestra inside the theatre, retained by Jacobs for the performance. The building being entirely of wood, the sounds blended with a harmony that might have suggested new masses for Mozart, or sonatas for Beethoven or Meyerbeer.

The transition of thought from the last composer to the bar was a necessary sequence. So I strolled into it, and ordered some bibulous refreshment. What a scene it was! Hawk eyed gamblers, drunken diggers, leary loafers, and verdant new chums. But the deft and gorgeous men behind the long bar, who were ministering ceaselessly to the thirsty wants of this mixture of humanity, at once attracted my attention; Gorgeous in white shirt, ambrosial locks and diamond pin, Mat Ramsay beamed upon me for the first time, Bill Stevens next, scarcely less attractive in get up and appearance, whilst Bill Kennedy, with his quiet, unpretentious style, and keen, shrewd face, was constantly taking stock, and blandly rectifying any small mistakes that might occur concerning change. Those were rattling, roaring times, bhoys! and no mistake, my word! — deprecate.

"Hallo! Gilderstein, my hearty, what brought you down?" thus, a stalwart, hairy man, to an interesting, rather effeminate, well-proportioned light-bearded man who, with a short, stout youth, was drinking brandy-smash.
"Why, Alf, old friend, how are you ?" responded the addressed, shaking him heartily by the hand, "join us in a liquor?" "Don't mind if I do, old boy — why, I thought you were at Beechworth." "So I have been, me and my mate here — pointing to the short, fit, pale-faced youth — have struck it heavy, old boy, and tomorrow we take the coach to Melbourne, off to the old country."

"I'm jolly glad to hear it." Alf shook hands with both of them demonstratively again, and left them liquoring up the bright  expression of their three honest faces quite dimming the smoke-obscured radiance of the kerosene. Some folks have luck, I thought as I wended my way through a crowd of people into the dress circle of the Theatre. There was just standing room at the back, and that was all. What a brilliant sight it was, as far as the audience were concerned. Handsome women, dressed regardless of expense, and in many instances with taste; the men in semi-bush costume, a style which harmonised with their sun-burnt, bearded, and in most instances, wine-flushed faces. The wizard was at his best that night, and the magic cauldron, inexhaustible bottle, and unaccountable plum pudding, were never seen to better advantage. "See that man on the right hand side of the boxes talking to that pretty fair-haired woman?" Thus — the check taker to me — I said I saw him."

"That's Nicoll's, one of the bosses — he's been to the races to-day, last day you know — he's won a heap of money. He's a jolly sort; sure to shout for the boys all round. I looked at him again, a fair, open, youthful handsome face, lit up with a genial smile. 'Sprightly' came on to sing about the loves of himself and his Marian, and I embraced the opportunity to leave, as it was very hot, and I intended retiring early in order to commence active operations in the morning. Immediately next to the Victoria was the Charlie Napier, where another band, with dancing, &., was going on. I strolled in there. A large room, some 80 x 40, crowded with diggers and women; two large bars inside and one out, with any amount of small rooms contiguous for those who wished to repose whilst imbibing, Pandomonium, Saturnalia, Dante's Inferno - Orgia — these words rose involuntarily to my lips.

Perhaps if I had known anybody I might have entered into the spirit of the thing, but as it was, I felt cynical, dizzy, and disagreeable. Back to the hotel into the sitting-room over the bar — lucky incident for me this, as it afterwards turned out, not much better there — groups of gamblers at the side tables, and a game of bluff in the centre one. The tablecloth had been carefully adjusted over the pier glass to prevent the reflection of the cards, and each gentleman played with his felt hat drawn carefully over his face, so that no clue to his emotions might be gained by his opponent's studying his physiognomy.

"Eucha! I'll see you for a fiver. Pass! Bye!" "D — n the cards. Curse such luck." "Your deal." Cleaned out, by Jove" — these, and such like ejaculations, were the only sound that varied the discordant monotony of the bands and inharmonious voices below. There were no disagreements or squabbles, and very little conversation. Those boys were more on the do than the talk.

By and bye, the theatre being over, Jacobs came in, recognising me. I had known him in Sydney. He came and sat down. We ordered liquors, and mutually expended our budget of news. An hour passed speedily and pleasantly away. Jacobs had boon doing exceedingly well, and was in high spirits. I inquired after Sprightly. He told me that his brother, and a tall Yankee who made the pudding which came out of the hat, and otherwise assisted, but whom the audience never saw, slept on the stage, and, being tired after the races, had turned in. Presently, about five minutes to twelve, Moody, a medium-sized, well built, amiable looking cuss — dep — came in, and said:— "Say, boys; guess you'd better knock off. Troopers' been round. Race time; anniversary of Eureka riots; extra strict to-night. So, no nonsense now; clear out!" The speech was laconic, but to the point, and there was a certain something in the style of the speaker that seemed to leave no room for argument. The different games were played-out, and the bhoys went. I shook hands with Jacobs at his door, observed that it was nearly opposite my own, and retired to my room, in dimensions about 9x6 and in temperature about 112deg. I opened the window, and looked out upon a sheer descent of about 40ft. I didn't think of it then, but it occurred to me afterwards. I may as well also state that it was the first room on the landing, right hand side over the staircase. I recognised the voices of Gilderstein and his mate talking in the next room — a double-bedded one — and having locked the door, undressed, and threw myself upon the bed.

I don't exactly know how long I might have lain drowsily thinking of my various wanderings, and wondering what next change fate might have in store for me — probably half an hour, when I became conscious of a perceptible increase of heat in the room. The murmur of voices in the contiguous chamber had long ceased, and a deep silence varied by occasional distant stertorous snorts had taken the place of the noise and turmoil of the previous hour. For some little time I paid no attention to the heat, but presently a dull, roaring, crackling sound attracted my attention, and springing up, I saw each line of every flooring board within the room, lit up beneath, with a bright red light that left no room for doubt — most probably the boards, though tongued and grooved had shrunk in the hot weather, and thus afforded me a glimpse of the horror going on below. I staggered to my feet, the floor was burning hot, and even whilst I made for the door, small forked flames began to lick their way between the boards — the silence was appalling.

I tried to shout; my voice refused obedience. Tremulously I turned the key, flung wide the door, and bursting into the passage, cried — this time with a voice that seemed another man's — Fire ! Fire ! ! Fire ! ! ! My next impulse was to hammer loudly with my fist at Jacobs' door, calling on his name. The flames, meanwhile, gained with marvellous rapidity, and huge volumes of smoke began to roll up from the staircase already on fire, threatening suffocation to the sleepers. At last — it seemed to me an age, though not perhaps a minute — Jacobs opened his door, and, seeing what he saw, slammed it hastily to again, and locked it. By this time all was astir, nude forms plunging wildly hither and thither across the passage, seeking egress from the house. Now  luckily, I remembered the apartment, which faced the street. One transient glance at all my household goods, daily raiment included, and straight I plunged into the front room over the long bar. The flames wore there, too, coming through the flooring; I had no time to lose. I sprang over the crackling floor and straight made for the centre window. Notwithstanding the excitement incidental to the situation, I noticed a tall figure, in shirt and drawers, simultaneously spring from some side door, and, rushing down the burning stairs, disappear in the very heart of the conflagration. I had no time to think of that; I lifted up the window, and about 14ft. or 16ft. below me was the street and safety.

The natural idea was to hang upon the ledge full length and drop, but unfortunately the windows were not weighted. In this dilemma a novel and ingenious mode of exit suggested itself. I sat upon the sill, my back towards the street, and resting the lower sash upon my neck carefully, drew out my legs, and as the frame gradually came down, prepared for a final spring. Happy thought, but far from picturesque to the select few who had already assembled to watch the burning house, judging from the derisive laughter which greeted my appearance — I didn't care for that, though — and in another moment was safely landed on some quartz pebbles which fronted the establishment. My feet were out; I didn't feel it then, but gathered myself up and became absorbed in the crowd, an eager, anxious spectator of the scene. The first thing I recollect after my descent was seeing the figure of a man come bounding through the smouldering door that led into the bar. As he fell upon the ground, in front of the house, some rushed to pick him up ; by this time, however, the spirits had caught fire, the heat was becoming intense, and it was with the utmost difficulty that they bore him away. They knocked a door down off a store, and placed him on it. It was poor Nicolls. The same man I bad seen a few hours previously smiling in the face of the fair woman, and the same form I had seen spring down the staircase into the heart of the flames — poor fellow, prompted by a desire to save a cashbox in the bar, he risked his life and lost it. He died next morning after frightful suffering. And now the town was thoroughly aroused, men came rushing in from every quarter, but could do no good; no water service, no engines, what could they do? — nothing but gaze stupidly at the devastation going on. Consequently they did it. Some escaped by the back way, some jumping out of the windows as I did. And others were lowered down by ropes of sheets and blankets.

On the left hand side of the hotel was a one-storied watch and clock maker's shop, with a canvas roof. Jacobs' window opened on this side of the hotel, and the spectators beheld the portly form of the great wizard, sitting on the ledge, with a portmanteau in his hand. Being very near-sight'd, the old boy shouted out, "is there anybody there to break my fall with a blanket, some canvas, or anything?" peering meanwhile into the depths below.

"Blow'd if that ain’t Jacobs the Wizard" said someone, upon which the chaff flew fast and furious — one recommending him immediately to put the fire out; if he was a wizard; to behave as such and so on.' In the midst, however, of their unfeeling banter, a rather forcible persuader, in the shape of a forked flame, attacked the necromancer sharply in the rear; and down he came, full crash, upon the watchmaker's frail tenement; carrying away the ridge pole, already partially consumed; and smashing more time-pieces in that one descent than ever he had done in the celebrated watch trick on the stage:- meanwhile the theatre had caught fire, and when the Wizard gathered himself together from the debris of his own creation, great were his lamentations as to the probable fate of his magic windmill, inexhaustible bottle, and other of his demoniacal apparatus; The heat was now intense, and but few were hardy enough to stand in front of the burning pile. Presently, with a crash, the roof caved in; and when the sparks had upward sped and the clear, bright flame resumed its steady, deadly, destructive sway, there upon the ground, with the iron bedsteads twisted over them like some huge, glowing spiders, lay the burning bodies of Gilderstein and his mate, the flames amorously licking their faces; and their attitudes precisely those of men peacefully at sleep. Let's draw a veil...

Sprightly cleared out early, getting through the roof of the theatre; but rather an amusing incident occurred to the tall Yankee  who assisted to pump out the cauldron, manufacture the pudding, &c., and to whom allusion has been already made. In the confusion incidental to suddenly waking under such circumstances - instead of following Sprightly, he determined to extricate himself on his own hook, and so with his back and elbows, prized out some scantling that lined the walls of the stage.

The stand upon which the theatre had been built was old mining ground; underneath the stage were many shafts, varying from twenty to fifty feet, and partially filled with stagnant drainage water. Now, also, where the scantlings were, there chanced to be a tub to catch the rain water from the spouting which ran along the eaves. Into this out tall friend incontinently fell backwards, his head, arms and tall legs in the air, but his inferior belongings immersed in the cooling fluid. Having firmly shut his eyes previous to his sudden and unexpected appearance, he was under the delusion that he had fallen down a hole 50 feet in depth at least, and great was the amusement of the spectators when he loudly called for ropes, buckets, and other apparatus to be lowered down to extricate him from his perilous position. The fun, however, was at its greatest when, finally opening his eyes, he gazed - a bewildered gaze - deliberately gathered himself together, scowling hatred and defiance all the while, and stalked majestically away. Thus, as in life, the grotesque and terrible went hand in hand on that eventful night.