Many a willing mother lent her tall daughter her hat, best cap, and white handkerchief; and many a grateful father spared his linen waistcoat and bettermost hat, to induce his grown up son to attend; for it is a rule with which Mrs. Jones began, that she would not receive the younger children out of any family who did not send their elder ones.
— from The Shepherd of Salisbury Plain, and Other Tales by Hannah More

| A dog-cart is the handiest of two-wheeled carts for all-round purposes, and therefore the one in most general use; so that a few hints on the selection or building of such a vehicle may be of use to those who have not had much practical experience in that line.
— from Hints on Driving by C. Morley (Charles Lewis William Morley) Knight

At the far end of the street they could see a group of men in the grey-green uniform surging to and fro before a house from which the screams seemed to issue.
— from Two Daring Young Patriots; or, Outwitting the Huns by W. P. Shervill

Their sides are adorned with fine trees, which have grown up since the axe first levelled the primeval forests in this part of the colony; a circumstance which, being unusual in Canada round new settlements, forms a most attractive feature in the landscape.
— from Life in the Clearings versus the Bush by Susanna Moodie

Acton gave us some trouble at first, holding that I was in fact his one-time crony, and that Mr. Ulceby had taken the course of denying me, as the one means of saving me from transportation to America.
— from The MS. in a Red Box by John A. (John Arthur) Hamilton

You see, Jack, clear grit as he was, was mighty rough style, and about as simple as they make 'em, and they had to get up something to account for that girl's taking a shine to him.
— from Tales of Trail and Town by Bret Harte

Three or four, when young, grow up sometimes together, and form at length, by uniting their sap, a tree of a monstrous thickness.
— from A History of Inventions, Discoveries, and Origins, Volume 1 (of 2) by Johann Beckmann

Every shot tolled to our imaginations the death of myriads; and the conviction that the destruction and devastation were so near us, with the probability that if all attempt at escape should prove abortive, we might be personally involved in the carnage, gave us sensations too awful for verbal expression; we could only gaze and tremble, listen and shudder.
— from The Diary and Letters of Madame D'Arblay — Volume 3 by Fanny Burney