“Well! the dance finished, the sun went down, and we departed. The Maying is over, the booths carried away and the May-house demolished. Everything has fallen into its old position except the love affairs of landlord Sims. The pretty lass with the black eyes, who first made her appearance at Whitley Wood, is actually staying at the Rose Inn on a visit to his daughters, and the village talk goes that she is to be the mistress of that thriving hostelry and the wife of its master.... Nobody knows exactly who the black-eyed damsel may be—but she’s young and pretty and civil and modest, and without intending to depreciate the merits of either of her competitors, I cannot help thinking that our good neighbour has shown his taste.” CHAPTER XXXIII WALKS IN THE COUNTRY The above title is given to many a delightful ramble to which Mary Russell Mitford takes her readers. Writing one day in the month of June, she exclaims: “What a glowing, glorious day! Summer in its richest prime, noon in its most sparkling brightness, little white clouds dappling the deep blue sky, and the sun, now partially veiled and now bursting through them with an intensity of light.... We are going to drive to the old house at Aberleigh, to spend a morning under the shade of those balmy firs and amongst those luxuriant rose trees and by the side of that brimming Loddon river. “‘Do not expect us before six o’clock,’ said I as I left the house. “‘Six at soonest,’ added my charming companion, and off we drove in our little pony-chaise drawn by an old mare, and with the good-humoured urchin, Henry’s successor, who takes care of horse and chaise, and cow and garden for our charioteer. “My comrade ... Emily is a person whom it is a privilege to know. She is quite like a creation of the older poets, and might pass for one of Shakespeare’s or Fletcher’s women stepped into life; just as tender, as playful, as gentle and as kind.... [Illustration: BRIDGE ON THE LODDON] “But here we are at the bridge! Here we must alight! ‘This is the Loddon, Emily. Is it not a beautiful river? rising level with its banks, so clear and smooth and peaceful ... bearing on its pellucid stream the snowy water-lily, the purest of flowers, which sits enthroned on its own cool leaves looking chastity itself, like the lady in Comus ...’. We must dismount here and leave Richard to take care of our equipage under the shade of these trees whilst we walk up to the house. See, there it is! We must cross this stile, there is no other way now.