One loses some few friends in a lifetime whose places are never filled.
We went to the funeral.

Had the cause of our journey been less sad, I should certainly have enjoyed it very much.

The railway ran through some beautiful scenery, but it was the long coach journey at the end which won my admiration for the Rector's native county.

I had never seen anything like these noble hills, these grand slopes of moorland stretching away on each side of us as we drove through a valley to which the river running with us gave its name.

Not a quiet, sluggish river, keeping flat pastures green, reflecting straight lines of pollard willows, and constantly flowing past gay villas and country cottages, but a pretty, brawling river with a stony bed, now yellow with iron, and now brown with peat, for long distances running its solitary race between the hills, but made useful here and there by ugly mills built upon the banks.