Lady Russell showed us the tranquil green place, and told us its
story, and how the old church had once been doomed to destruction
when Kingsley came over by chance, and pleaded that it should be
spared; and how, when rubbish and outward signs of decay had been
cleared away, the restorers were rewarded for their piety, by coming
upon noble beams of oak, untouched by time, upon some fine old
buried monuments and brasses and inscriptions, among which the
people still say their prayers in the shrine where their fathers
knelt, and of which the tradition is not yet swept away. The
present Lady of the Manor, who loves old traditions, has done her
part to preserve the records for her children.

So Miss Mitford walked from Three Mile Cross to Swallowfield to end
her days, with these kind friends to cheer and to comfort her. Sir
Henry Russell was alive when she first established herself, but he
was already suffering from some sudden seizure, which she, with her
usual impetuosity, describes in her letters as a chronic state of
things. After his death, his widow, the Lady Russell of those days,
was her kindest friend and comforter.

The little Swallowfield cottage at the meeting of the three roads,
to which Mary Mitford came when she left Three Mile Cross, has
thrown out a room or two, as cottages do, but otherwise I think it
can be little changed. It was here Miss Mitford was visited by so
many interesting people, here she used to sit writing at her big
table under the 'tassels of her acacia tree.' When the present Lady
of the Manor brought us to the gate, the acacia flowers were over,
but a balmy breath of summer was everywhere; a beautiful rose was
hanging upon the wall beneath the window (it must have taken many
years to grow to such a height), and beyond the palings of the