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After his narrow escape from an ignominious death, Frank Sydney resumed his nocturnal wanderings thro' the city, in disguise, in order to do deeds of charity and benevolence to those who needed his aid. One night, dressed in the garb of a sailor, and wearing an immense pair of false whiskers, he strolled towards the Five Points, and entered the 'crib' of Bloody Mike.
No, no believe me, Mr. Sydney, that those who take up their abode in the Vaults, and become diseased, and rot, and die there, had much better be suffered to remain there, far removed from the community, than to come into contact with that community, and impart their disease and pollution to those who are now healthy and pure.
Put your hands in your pockets and I'll get you there in no time. What a beast of a day, isn't it?" "Y yes," answered Sydney, "I suppose it is. But I rather like it." "Like it? Great Scott! Why?" "Well, the mist feels good on your face, don't you think so? And the trees down there along the railroad look so gray and soft.
The wretched man knew what that meant, and asked him no questions. Rothesay, sneak and traitor as he was, felt some shame in his heart when, an hour later, Proctor held out his hand, thanked him, and bade him good-bye. "I'm clearing out," he said. Then for six years Proctor was seen no more in Sydney.
The doctor laid his two hands on Darnay's lips. "Tell me when I ask you, not now. Go! God bless you!" On a day shortly before the marriage, while Lucie was sitting at her work alone, Sydney Carton entered. "I fear you are not well, Mr. Carton," she said, looking up at him. "No; but the life I lead is not conducive to health." "Is it not forgive me a pity to live no better life?"
Anyhow in my own wanderings I found myself in the high narrow house of the Base Commandant at Kantara, the only house in the whole circle of the horizon; and from the wooden balustrade and verandah, running round the top of it, could be seen nine miles of tents. Sydney Smith said that the bulbous domes of the Brighton Pavilion looked as if St.
I was reading a book the other day which said that Sydney harbour is the most beautiful thing God ever made on the face of the globe. 'I know there used to be convicts there, said Mr. Jones, very positively. 'Perhaps they had a few once, but never many. They have oranges there, and a Parliament almost as good as our own, and a beautiful new post-office. But I shan't have to go, Mr. Jones.
So it befell that Norris, during what remained to him of arduous days in Sydney, saw not again the face of his legal adviser; and he was already at sea, and land was out of sight, when Hadden brought him a Sydney paper, over which he had been dozing in the shadow of the galley, and showed him an advertisement: "Mr.
The English visitor to the Eastern Colonies of Australia, who is in search of sport with either rod or hand line, can always obtain excellent fishing in the summer months, even in such traffic-disturbed harbours as Sydney, Newcastle and other ports; but on the tidal rivers of the eastern and southern seaboard he can catch more fish than he can carry home, during nine months of the year.
Out I went, and there, looking at me with a smile or rather a grin, was Jacky Fishook. "How do, sar?" said he. "Just come from Sydney, sar, to look for job. Massa take me for man, sar? yes? Jacky, sar, good black fellow, no stink-water, sar, ride sar, fish, shoot, fetch bullocks, sar? yes." "And then the spear, eh?" said I, frowning, "Who was it killed Buffalo Jim, you villain?"
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