Kenneth Grahame

But was the matter allowed to end there? I trow not.

I propose to devote the remainder of mine to it, and can only regret the wasted years that lie behind me, squandered in trivialities.

Shabby indeed, and small and poorly furnished, and yet his, the home he had made for himself, the home he had been so happy to get back to after his day's work.

The sunshine struck hot on his fur, soft breezes caressed his heated brow, and after the seclusion of the cellarage he had lived in so long the carol of happy birds fell on his dulled hearing almost like a shout.

Did it change into the cry of the wind, plaintive at first, angrily shrill as it freshened, rising to a tearing whistle, sinking to a musical trickle of air from the leech of the bellying sail?

Here the unfeeling Toad broke into a snigger, and then pulled himself together and tried to look particularly solemn.

[…] presently the Mole's spirits revived again, and he was even able to give some straight back-talk to a couple of moorhens who were sniggering to each other about his bedraggled appearance.