In the morning, after eating our breakfast--which in Sydney is the most important meal of the day--my companion and I walked out into the streets. We soon parted company--each taking a different direction, since each had his own affairs to attend to. I proceeded direct to the house where I had left my sister, two years before. I was both surprised, and disappointed, at not finding her there; and perceiving that the house was no longer a milliner's shop. I inquired for the people who formerly occupied the premises; but could learn nothing of them. "I am justly served," thought I, "I should have corresponded with my sister; and this disappointment could not have happened." My relatives had been lost to me once. That should have been a warning. I should have taken precautions against a recurrence of this misfortune. Instead of doing so, I had led Martha to believe, that I had gone back to England; and during my absence had never written to her. I now perceived how foolishly I had acted; and felt as if I deserved never to see my sister again. I should have been more deeply aggrieved by my conduct, but that I still entertained the hope of being able to find her. Sydney was not a large city; and if my sister was still within its limits, there was no reason why I should not discover her whereabouts-- especially with the energy and perseverance I determined to make use of in the search. This search I lost no time in instituting. I turned into the next street--though rather mechanically than otherwise: for I was still undecided as to how I should act. All at once I remembered, that the woman, with whom Martha had gone into partnership, was a Mrs Green. I remembered, too, hearing Mrs Green say, that she had resided in Sydney for several years. Some one, therefore, should know her; and, if she could be found, it was natural to infer, that I should learn something of Martha. While sauntering along the street, into which I had entered, my eye fell upon a little shop, which bore the sign of a milliner over the window. That should be the place for me to commence my inquiries. I entered the shop, where I saw standing behind a counter the worst-looking woman I had ever beheld. She was not ugly, from having a positively hideous face, or ill-formed features; but rather from the spirit that gave expression to both. It was a combination of wicked passions--comprising self-esteem, insolence, avarice, and everything that makes human nature despicable. The woman was dressed in a style that seemed to say: "vanity for sale." I asked her, if she could give me any intelligence of a Mrs Green, who formerly kept a milliner's shop in the next street. A disgusting grin suddenly spread over the features of the woman, as she promptly replied, "Yes; Mrs Green was chased out of Sydney over a year ago. She thought to smash my business; but she got smashed herself." "Can you tell me where she is to be found?" I inquired.