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Updated: June 5, 2025
On Good Friday evening in the lovely dying April light I paid thirty centimes to be taken by tram to Grassina to see the famous procession of the Gesù Morto.
"Not good enough. I won't pass the worm at all. If you don't retract it wholly I shall put you down at the first tram, and let you get back to Bloomsbury on your own." "I'll retract, if you'll tell me who you are." "I'll tell you afterwards." She shook her head. "Perhaps you are going to Downing Street even now, to plan a crushing blow to the Cause."
It had been quite half-past eleven when we left the Heads, and the clock in the car wanted a few minutes to twelve when we sailed over the bridge and up Moorabool-street. We cleared a stationary tram by inches, twisted in an S curve to avoid a farmer's waggon and then, with a heart-rending grind, Bryce threw over his clutch and slowed down to a snail-like crawl of ten miles an hour.
I felt grievously defrauded. I wanted a mule tram." "The mule is an unfashionable animal," said Mrs. Carroll. "Time was when a handsome pair of mules was considered not unsuitable to draw a gentleman's carriage." "The farmers aren't using them so much, either," said Bob. "They're too unreliable. Horses are cheaper, too." "I saw some very decent saddle-horses in town of their kind."
That confidential conversation went no further; but I have never been sure that Lord Clonmel in the least overstated the case. This renewed allusion to the lower regions that appears so closely connected with Irish affairs reminds me of an amusing incident which took place in a Dublin tram.
But, having seen her actually aboard, my attention became elsewhere engaged. All now depended upon securing a cab before the tram car had passed from view! I counted it an act of Providence that a disengaged taxi appeared at that moment, evidently bound for Waterloo Station. I ran out into the road with cane upraised. As the man drew up "Quick!" I cried.
The planets take their heavenly courses. But I had never been to the United States before, did not know even the names of their many gods, and New York was at the end of a great journey; and the train for it stopped outside a tobacco shop in the road, like a common tram.
Warren now got easily out of breath up to the Jardin Bontanique; Vivie would leave her there in the Palm House. It was warm; it was little frequented; there were seats and the Belgians in charge knew Mrs. Warren of old time. Vivie would then go on along the inner Boulevards by tram and look at some rooms recommended by Minna von Stachelberg in the Quartier St. Gilles. Mrs.
The electric tram provides an excellent method of gaining a general idea of Batavia and Weltevreden; the winding route skirting canals and palm groves, campongs of basket-work huts, and gay passers, the native markets, with their wealth of many-coloured fruit.
"I'm surprised to hear that. She looked particularly well when I saw her last. Had you any trouble in making your way here?" "Oh, not a bit. I found the tram, just as Eve told me. But I'm so sorry! And a fine day too! You don't often have fine days here, do you, Mr. Hilliard?" "Now and then. So you've seen Dudley at last. What do you think of it?" "Oh, I like it!
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