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,