the Loddon flowing partly round it, then taking its swift way
through the village. Miss Mitford's monument is a plain,
almost an ugly, granite cross, standing close to the wall,
shaded by yew, elm, and beech trees, and one is grateful to
think that if she never had her reward when living she has
found at any rate a very peaceful resting-place.

The sexton was there and told us that he was but ten years old
when Miss Mitford died, but that he remembered her well and
she was a very pleasant little woman. Others in the place
who remembered her said the same--that she was very pleasant
and sweet. We know that she was sweet and charming, but
unfortunately the portraits we have of her do not give that
impression. They represent her as a fat common-place looking
person, a little vulgar perhaps. I fancy the artists were
bunglers. I possess a copy of a very small pencil sketch made
of her face by a dear old lady friend of mine, now dead, about
the year 1851 or 2. My friend had a gift for portraiture in a
peculiar way. When she saw a face that greatly interested
her, in a drawing-room, on a platform, in the street, anywhere,
it remained very vividly in her mind and on going home she
would sketch it, and some of these sketches of well known
persons are wonderfully good. She was staying in the country
with a friend who drove with her to Swallowfield to call on
Miss Mitford, and on her return to her friend's house she
made the little sketch, and in this tiny portrait I can see
the refinement, the sweetness, the animation and charm which
she undoubtedly possessed.

But let me now venture to step a little outside of my own