Whenever it came to breakfast-time, after three hours upon the moors, I regularly forgot the pigs, but paid good heed to the rashers.

For ours is a hungry county, if such there be in England; a place, I mean, where men must eat, and are quick to discharge the duty.

The air of the moors is so shrewd and wholesome, stirring a man's recollection of the good things which have betided him, and whetting his hope of something still better in the future, that by the time he sits down to a cloth, his heart and stomach are tuned too well to say 'nay' to one another.
Almost everybody knows, in our part of the world at least, how pleasant and soft the fall of the land is round about Plover's Barrows farm.

All above it is strong dark mountain, spread with heath, and desolate, but near our house the valleys cove, and open warmth and shelter.

Here are trees, and bright green grass, and orchards full of contentment, and a man may scarce espy the brook, although he hears it everywhere.