A Sketch of Ballarat.

Cromwell Argus, Volume IV, Issue 188, 17 June 1873, Page 7

A Sketch of Ballarat.

There is something painful in meeting with an old friend in a ragged untidy dress, whom you had known when he wore the best, and sported diamond rings and a heavy gold albert; but the effect is still more depressing when you find a city which you left flourishing, weaving, as it wore, seedy garments. “ How is the city desolate which was filled with people!” You remember the days when Ballarat v/as the centre of attraction throughout the colony, when yon would find at Craig’s Hotel, Melbourne, Sydney, and Adelaide men ; when engine after engine was was being erected on the famous Golden Point lead ; when magnificent shops, banks, and warehouses were going up like fairy edifices, erected by the wave of the wand of Gold, the enchanter ; and looking down on on the now almost Geelongese city you cannot but cry, ‘‘ Oh ! what a falling off is here But where you will notice the change most is in the great mart, the Corner. There is no Corner now. A few illdressed men, weary and listless in appearance, lounge round the Unicorn Hotel, Time evidently hangs heavy on their hands. Once, indeed, and not so long ago, there was little time for standing round there. Yon could only see faces flushed with success, men who could hardly speak to you for a minute, so precious was time to them ; men who hurried hither and thither, made notes as fast as a shorthand writer, drank brandy, and could draw cheques for four figures, and what is more, have them honoured. There is plenty of drawing cheques now, I am told, but the difficulty is to get them cashed. To one who had been on Ballarat when the Corner was in full swing, the sight of the Corner now would make him take up his valise and fly. It has been deserted for the Beehive. Almost all the leading brokers have fled to Sandhurst, and the smaller fry have followed in their wake. But even further could the quondam Ballaratian pursue the contrast and be surprised. Night falls on dull, unfrequented streets. Amusements there are rone ; people hurry home and heed no more the glare of the lights, the music of the theatre. Anonyma, who in the brisk times haunted these streets, has disappeared ; the gay bloods who smoked cigars in the vestibule of the theatre have vanished, and Ballarat, once the abode of what is generally known as the frenzy called “ life,” is as dull as the once laughed-at “Pivot.” Perhaps it is for the best. The fever is over—the golden days have fled—and with them many who made fortunes; and Ballarat wakes from its dream to find its alluvia! all but worked out, its quartz undeveloped, with a large population to feed, magnificent shops to support, and the stern enquiry facing the awakened sleeper, “ How is it to be done Town and Country Journal..