Round under the cliffs by the sea, facing South, are warm seats in winter.

The sun that shines there on a day of frost wraps you as in a mantle.

Here it was that Mr.Herbert Fellingham found Annette, a chalk-block for her chair, and a mound of chalk-rubble defending her from the keen-tipped breath of the east, now and then shadowing the smooth blue water, faintly, like reflections of a flight of gulls.
Infants are said to have their ideas, and why not young ladies?
Those who write of their perplexities in descriptions comical in their length are unkind to them, by making them appear the simplest of the creatures of fiction; and most of us, I am sure, would incline to believe in them if they were only some bit more lightly touched.

Those troubled sentiments of our young lady of the comfortable classes are quite worthy of mention.

Her poor little eye poring as little fishlike as possible upon the intricate, which she takes for the infinite, has its place in our history, nor should we any of us miss the pathos of it were it not that so large a space is claimed for the exposure.