our village-第6部分

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nd　whirled　us　through　the　busy　town　and　along　the　straight　dusty　road　beyond　it。　As　we　drove　along　in　the　soft　clouded　sunshine　I　looked　over　the　hedges　on　either　side；　and　I　could　see　fields　and　hedgerows　and　red　roofs　clustering　here　and　there；　while　the　low　background　of　blue　hills　spread　towards　the　horizon。　　It　was　an　unpretentious　homely　prospect　intercepted　each　minute　by　the　detestable　advertisement　hoardings　recommending　this　or　that　rival　pill。　　'Tongues　in　trees'　indeed；　in　a　very　different　sense　from　the　exiled　duke's　experience！　Then　we　come　within　sight　of　the　running　brook；　uncontaminated　as　yet；　the　river　flowing　cool　and　swift；　without　quack　medicines　stamped　upon　its　waters：　　we　reach　Whitley　presently；　with　its　pretty　gabled　hostel　（Mrs。　Mitford　used　to　drive　to　Whitley　and　back　for　her　airing）；　the　dust　rises　on　the　fresh　keen　wind；　the　scent　of　the　ripe　corn　is　in　the　air；　the　cows　stoop　under　the　elm　trees；　looking　exactly　as　they　do　in　Mr。　Thomson's　pretty　pictures；　dappled　and　brown；　with　delicate　legs　and　horns。　　We　pass　very　few　people；　a　baby　lugged　along　in　its　cart；　and　accompanied　by　its　brothers　and　sisters；　a　fox…terrier　comes　barking　at　our　wheels；　at　last　the　phaeton　stops　abruptly　between　two　or　three　roadside　houses；　and　the　coachman；　pointing　with　his　whip；　says；　'That　is　〃The　Mitford；〃　ma'am。That's　where　Miss　Mitford　used　to　live！'

Was　that　all？　　I　saw　two　or　three　commonplace　houses　skirting　the　dusty　road；　I　saw　a　comfortable　public…house　with　an　elm　tree；　and　beside　it　another　grey　unpretentious　little　house；　with　a　slate　roof　and　square　walls；　and　an　inscription；　'The　Mitford；'　painted　over　the　doorway。　。　。　。

I　had　been　expecting　I　knew　not　what；　a　spire；　a　pump；　a　green；　a　winding　street：　　my　preconceived　village　in　the　air　had　immediately　to　be　swept　into　space；　and　in　its　stead；　behold　the　inn　with　its　sign…post；　and　these　half…dozen　brick　tenements；　more　or　less　cut　to　one　square　pattern！　　So　this　was　all！　this　was　'our　village'　of　which　the　author　had　written　so　charmingly！　　These　were　the　sights　the　kind　eyes　had　dwelt　upon；　seeing　in　them　all；　the　soul　of　hidden　things；　rather　than　dull　bricks　and　slates。　　Except　for　one　memory；　Three　Mile　Cross　would　seem　to　be　one　of　the　dullest　and　most　uninteresting　of　country　places。　。　。　。

But　we　have　Miss　Mitford's　own　description。　　'The　Cross　is　not　a　borough；　thank　Heaven；　either　rotten　or　independent。　　The　inhabitants　are　quiet；　peaceable　people　who　would　not　think　of　visiting　us；　even　if　we　had　a　knocker　to　knock　at。　　Our　residence　is　a　cottage'　（she　is　writing　to　her　correspondent；　Sir　William　Elford）；　'no；　not　a　cottage；　it　does　not　deserve　the　namea　messuage　or　tenement　such　as　a　little　farmer　who　had　made　1400　pounds　might　retire　to　when　he　left　off　business　to　live　on　his　means。　　It　consists　of　a　series　of　closets；　the　largest　of　which　may　be　about　eight　feet　square；　which　they　call　parlours　and　kitchens　and　pantries；　some　of　them　minus　a　corner；　which　has　been　unnaturally　filched　for　a　chimney；　others　deficient　in　half　a　side；　which　has　been　truncated　by　a　shelving　roof。　　Behind　is　a　garden　about　the　size　of　a　good　drawing…room；　with　an　arbour；　which　is　a　complete　sentry…box　of　privet。　　On　one　side　a　public…house；　on　the　other　a　village　shop；　and　right　opposite　a　cobbler's　stall。　Notwithstanding　all　this　〃the　cabin；〃　as　Boabdil　says；　〃is　convenient。〃　　It　is　within　reach　of　my　dear　old　walks；　the　banks　where　I　find　my　violets；　the　meadows　full　of　cowslips；　and　the　woods　where　the　woodsorrel　blows。　。　。　。　　Papa　has　already　had　the　satisfaction　of　setting　the　neighbourhood　to　rights　and　committing　a　disorderly　person　who　was　the　pest　of　〃The　Cross〃　to　Bridewell。　。　。　。　　Mamma　has　furbished　up　an　old　dairy；　I　have　lost　my　only　key　and　stuffed　the　garden　with　flowers。'　。　。　。　。　　So　writes　the　contented　young　woman。

How　much　more　delightful　is　all　this　than　any　commonplace　stagey　effect　of　lattice　and　gable；　and　with　what　pleasant　unconscious　art　the　writer　of　this　letter　describes　what　is　NOT　there　and　brings　in　her　banks　of　violets　to　perfume　the　dull　rooms。　　The　postscript　to　this　letter　is　Miss　Mitford　all　over。　　'Pray　excuse　my　blots　and　interlineations。　　They　have　been　caused　by　my　attention　being　distracted　by　a　nightingale　in　full　song　who　is　pouring　a　world　of　music　through　my　window。'

'Do　you　not　like　to　meet　with　good　company　in　your　friends'　hearts？'　Miss　Mitford　says　somewhere；to　no　one　better　than　to　herself　does　this　apply。　　Her　heart　was　full　of　gracious　things；　and　the　best　of　company　was　ever　hers；　'La　fleur　de　la　hotte；'　as　Madame　de　Sevigne　says。

We　walked　into　the　small　square　hall　where　Dr。　Mitford's　bed　was　established　after　his　illness；　whilst　visitors　and　all　the　rest　of　the　household　came　and　went　through　the　kitchen　door。　　In　the　parlour；　once　kept　for　his　private　use；　now　sat　a　party　of　homely　friends　from　Reading；　resting　and　drinking　tea：　　we　too　were　served　with　smoking　cups；　and　poured　our　libation　to　her　who　once　presided　in　the　quiet　place；　and　then　the　landlady　took　us　round　and　about；　showed　us　the　kitchen　with　its　comfortable　corners　and　low　window…frames'I　suppose　this　is　scarcely　changed　at　all？'　said　one　of　us。

'Oh　yes；　ma'am；'　says　the　housekeeper'WE　uses　a　Kitchener；　Miss　Mitford　always　kept　an　open　range。'

The　garden；　with　its　sentry…box　of　privet；　exists　no　longer；　an　iron　mission…room　stands　in　its　place；　with　the　harmonium；　the　rows　of　straw　chairs；　the　table　and　the　candlesticks　de　circonstance。　　Miss　Mitford's　picture　hangs　on　the　wall；　a　hand…coloured　copy　of　one　of　her　portraits。　　The　kindly　homely　features　smile　from　the　oils；　in　good　humour　and　attentive　intelligence。　　The　sentiment　of　to…day　is　assuredly　to　be　found　in　the　spirit　of　things　rather　than　in　their　outward　signs。　。　。　。　　Any　one　of　us　can　feel　the　romance　of　a　wayside　shrine　put　up　to　the　memory　of　some　mediaeval　well…dressed　saint　with　a　nimbus　at　the　back　of　her　head；　and　a　trailing　cloak　and　veil。　。　。　。　　Here；　after　all；　is　the　same　sentiment；　only　translated　into　nineteenth…century　language；　uses　corrogated　iron　sheds；　and　cups　of　tea；　and　oakum　matting。　　'Mr。　Palmer；　he　bought　the　place；'　says　the　landlady；　'he　made　it　into　a　Temperance　Hotel；　and　built　the　Temperance　Hall　in　the　garden。'　。　。　。　。

No　romantic　marble　shrine；　but　a　square　meeting…house　of　good　intent；　a　tribute　not　less　sincere　because　it　is　square；　than　if　it　were　drawn　into　Gothic　arch　and　curve。　　It　speaks；　not　of　a　holy　and　mythical　saint；　but　of　a　good　and　warm…hearted　woman；　of　a　life…long　penance　borne　with　charity　and　cheerfulness；　of　sweet　fancies　and　blessings　which　have　given　innocent　pleasure　to　many　generations！

VII。

There　is　a　note；　written　in　a　close　and　pretty　writing；　something　between　Sir　Walter　Scott's　and　Mrs。　Browning's；　which　the　present　writer　has　possessed　for　years；　fastened　in　a　book　among　other　early　treasures：

Thank　you；　dearest　Miss　Priscilla；　for　your　great　kindness。　　I　return　the　ninth　volume　of　＇illegible＇；　with　the　four　succeeding　ones；　all　that　I　have；　probably　all　that　are　yet　published。　　You　shall　have　the　rest　when　I　get　them。　　Tell　dear　Mr。　George　（I　must　not　call　him　Vert…Vert）　that　I　have　recollected　the　name　of　the　author　of　the　clever　novel　'Le　Rouge　et　le　Noir'　（that　is　the　right　title　of　the　book；　which　has　nothing　to　do　with　the　name）；　the　author's　name　is　Stendhal；　or　so　he　calls　himself。　　I　think　that　he　was　either　a　musician　or　a　musical　critic；　and　that　he　is　dead。　。　。　。　　My　visitor　has　not　yet　arrived　（6　o'clock；　p。m。）；　frightened　no　doubt　by　the　abruptness　of　the　two　notes　which　I　wrote　in　reply　to　hers　yesterday　morning；　and　indeed　nobody　could　fancy　the　hurry　in　which　one　is　forced　to　write　by　this　walking　post。　。　。　。

Tell　my　visitors　of　yesterday　with　my　kind　love　that　they　did　me　all　the　good　in　the　world；　as　indeed　everybody　of　your　house　does。　Ever；　dear　Miss　Priscilla；　very　affectionately　yours；　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　M。　R。　MITFORD。

In　the　present　writer's　own　early　days；　when　the　now　owner　of　Swallowfield　was　a　very　young；　younger　son；　she　used　to　hear　him　and　his　sister；　Mrs。　Brackenbury　（the　Miss　Priscilla　of　the　note）；　speaking　with　affectionate　remembrance　of　the　old　friend　lately　gone；　who　had　dwelt　at　their　very　gates；　through　which　friendly　gates　one　is　glad；　indeed；　to　realise　what　delightful　companionship　and　loving　help　came　to　cheer　the　end　of　that　long　and　toilsome　life；　and　when　Messrs。　　Macmillan　suggested　this　preface　the　writer　looked　for　her　old　autograph…book；　and　at　its　suggestion　wrote　（wondering　whether　any　links　existed　still）　to　ask　for　information　concerning　Miss　Mitford；　and　so　it　happened　that　she　found　herself　also　kindly　entertained　at　Swallowfield；　and　invited　to　visit　the　scenes　of　which　the　author　of　'Our　Village'　had　written　with　so　much　delight。

I　think　I　should　like　to　reverse　the　old　proverb　about　letting　those　who　run　read；　my　own　particular　fancy　being　for　reading　first　and　running　afterwards。　　There　are　few　greater　pleasures　than　to　meet　with　an　Individuality；　to　listen　to　it　speaking　from　a　printed　page；　recounting；　suggesting；　growing　upon　you　every　hour；　gaining　in　life　and　presence；　and　then；　while　still　under　its　influence；　to　find　oneself　suddenly　transported　into　the　very　scene　of　that　life；　to　stand　among　its　familiar　impressions　and　experiences；　realising　another　distinct　existence　by　some　odd　metempsychosis；　and　what　may…　…or　rather；　what　MUST　have　been。　　It　is　existing　a　book　rather　than　reading　it　when　this　happens　to　one。

The　house　in　Swallowfield　Park　is　an　old　English　country　home；　a　fastness　still　piled　up　against　time；　whose　stately　walls　and　halls　within；　and　beautiful　century…old　trees　in　the　park　without；　record　great　times　and　striking　figures。　　The　manor　was　a　part　of　the　dowry　of　Henry　the　VIII。's　luckless　queens。　　The　modern　house　was　built　by　Clarendon；　and　the　old　church　among　the　elms　dates　from　1200；　with　carved　signs　and　symbols　and　brasses　of　knights　and　burgesses；　and　names　of　strange　sound　and　bygone　fashion。

Lady　Russell；　who　had　sent　the　phaeton　with　the　fast…stepping　horse　to　meet　us；　was　walking　in　the　park　as　we　drove　up；　and　instead　of　taking　us　back　to　the　house；　she　first　led　th