It was towards the end of her life that Miss Mitford left Three Mile
Cross and came to Swallowfield to stay altogether. 'The poor
cottage was tumbling around us, and if we had stayed much longer we
should have been buried in the ruins,' she says; 'there I had toiled
and striven and tasted as bitterly of bitter anxiety, of fear and
hope, as often falls to the lot of women.' Then comes a charming
description of the three miles of straight and dusty road. 'I
walked from one cottage to the other on an autumn evening when the
vagrant birds, whose habit of assembling there for their annual
departure, gives, I suppose, its name of Swallowfield to the
village, were circling over my head, and I repeated to myself the
pathetic lines of Hayley as he saw those same birds gathering upon
his roof during his last illness:--

'"Ye gentle birds, that perch aloof,
And smooth your pinions on my roof. . .

'"Prepare for your departure hence
Ere winter's angry threats commence;
Like you my soul would smooth her plume
For longer flights beyond the tomb.

'"May God by whom is seen and heard
Departing men and wandering bird,
In mercy mark us for His own
And guide us to the land unknown!"'

Thoughts soothing and tender came with those touching lines, and
gayer images followed. . . .