Dorothy remained outside, using the hammock as a swing, pushing herself to and fro slowly by a touch on the parapet now and then.
— from Dorothy, and Other Italian Stories by Constance Fenimore Woolson

'Missis, we hab um piccaninny—tree weeks in de ospital, and den right out upon the hoe again— can we strong dat way, missis?
— from Journal of a Residence on a Georgian Plantation: 1838-1839 by Fanny Kemble

Leaving Maertz to regain his feet and the stick, Dalroy rushed on up the hill.
— from The Day of Wrath: A Story of 1914 by Louis Tracy

Chet and Dig rode off up the hill; but they did not lose sight of the men whom they so distrusted—not for some time.
— from The Trail Boys of the Plains; Or, The Hunt for the Big Buffalo by Jay Winthrop Allen

[44] Unhappie sight and hath shee vanisht by, So neere, in so good time so free a place, Dead glasse dost thou thine object so imbrase, As what my hart still sees thou canst not spie, I sweare by hir Love and my lacke, that I Was not in fault that bent my dazling race Onely unto the heaven of Stella’s face, Counting but dust that in her way did lie: But cease mine eyes, your teares doe witnes well, That you guiltles therefore your necklace mist, Curst be the Page from whome the bad torch fell, Curst be the night which did your will resist, Curst be the Cochman that did drive so fast, With no lesse curse then absence makes me tast.
— from Sir P.S.: His Astrophel and Stella Wherein the excellence of sweete poesie is concluded by Philip Sidney