goodness of God, who has spread an enjoyment so pure, so peaceful,
and so intense before the meanest and lowliest of His creatures.'

But it is needless now to go on praising 'Our Village,' or to
recount what a success was in store for the little book. Certain
books hold their own by individual right and might; they are part of
everybody's life as a matter of course. They are not always read,
but they tacitly take their place among us. The editions succeeded
editions here and in America; artists came down to illustrate the
scenes. Miss Mitford, who was so delighted with the drawings by Mr.
Baxter, should have lived to see the charming glimpses of rural life
we owe to Mr. Thomson. 'I don't mind 'em,' says Lizzy to the cows,
as they stand with spirited bovine grace behind the stable door.
'Don't mind them indeed!'

I think the author would assuredly have enjoyed the picture of the
baker, the wheelwright and the shoemaker, each following his special
Alderney along the road to the village, or of the farmer driving his
old wife in the gig. . . . One design, that of the lady in her
pattens, comes home to the writer of these notes, who has perhaps
the distinction of being the only authoress now alive who has ever
walked out in pattens. At the age of seven years she was provided
with a pair by a great-great-aunt, a kind old lady living at
Fareham, in Hampshire, where they were still in use. How
interesting the little circles looked stamped upon the muddy road,
and how nearly down upon one's nose one was at every other step!

But even with all her success, Miss Mitford was not out of her
troubles. She writes to Mr. Harness saying: 'You cannot imagine
how perplexed I am. There are points in my domestic situation too