I took a book--some Arabian tales; I sat down and endeavoured to read.

I could make no sense of the subject; my own thoughts swam always between me and the page I had usually found fascinating.

I opened the glass-door in the breakfast-room: the shrubbery was quite still: the black frost reigned, unbroken by sun or breeze, through the grounds.

I covered my head and arms with the skirt of my frock, and went out to walk in a part of the plantation which was quite sequestrated; but I found no pleasure in the silent trees, the falling fir-cones, the congealed relics of autumn, russet leaves, swept by past winds in heaps, and now stiffened together.

I leaned against a gate, and looked into an empty field where no sheep were feeding, where the short grass was nipped and blanched.