were thirty tickets at a pound each, and the fortunate winner was to
compensate the disappointed by standing champagne all round. I was once
in the Lamb Inn ere its glories had quite expired, as might be inferred
from a charge of 4 shillings for a bottle of cider, for which I had
called in support of the house, and to while away time in waiting for a
friend. I had to share it with two others who happened to be in the
room, the waiter having promptly filled the three tumblers he had
brought, without even "Robert's" professional stereotype of "by your
leave," the tumblers, too, being as promptly emptied without any
ceremonious bother about acknowledgment. The Lamb Inn lived a brief
space longer, but utterly bereft of its old position in the revels and
extravagance of every kind of the young settlement, and was finally
levelled out of existence in company with the "cliff" at its back.

But I have to do also with nearer and dearer connections of Batman than
his tobacco pipe. I have to record the marriage, during 1844, of two of
his daughters, the elder, already a widow, Mrs. McKinney, to my pleasant
friend Fennell, as I have previously mentioned, and, happily, resulting
in a family of descendants to the Port Phillip founder, and the younger
to one of the two squatter brothers Collyer. The latter event, which
came off at the hospitable and comfortable homestead of old John Aitken
of that ilk (I mean of Mount Aitken), was a grand gala time to a very
wide circle. Guests, by the score together, trooped up from town and
country, headed, in the former direction, by Andrew Russell, then second
mayor of Melbourne, in succession to my friend Condell, and in the
latter by his cheery and ever-smiling uncle, Peter Inglis, of Ingliston,
a great station homestead in the comparisons of those early times, and
once, as Peter liked to tell, taken for a town, perhaps in the gloaming
hours, by a bush traveller when he inquired of one of the domestics, to
her great amusement, the name of the street he had confusingly got into.