Let Hannibal, slipping through our fingers, waste Italy through and through; and, ravaging and burning everything, let him arrive at the walls of Rome; nor let us move hence till the fathers shall have summoned Flaminius from Arretium, as they did Camillus of old from Veii.'
— from A Little Pilgrimage in Italy by Olave M. (Olave Muriel) Potter

Some times we would go clost up to the shore, by islands whose green forests swep’ clear down to the water’s edge, makin’ the water look green and cool and shady, and the water would narrow itself down between two houses seemin’ly jest to be accomodatin’, and run along between ’em like a little rivulet with water lilies and buttercups dippin’ down into it on each side and boys wadin’ acrost.
— from Samantha at Coney Island and a Thousand Other Islands by Marietta Holley