My story is not long, said the artist; but your honour had better sit while you listen to it. So saying, he approached to the fire a three-footed stool, and took another himself, […]

The caboose, long decrepit, rested on a forgotten layup just north of the dry riverbed.

Toil is the portion of day, as sleep is that of night; but if there be one hour of the twenty-four which has the life of day without its labour, and the rest of night without its slumber, it is the lovely and languid hour of twilight.

The seats in the carriage faced backwards.