“Farewell, then, my beloved village! The long straggling street, gay and bright in this sunny, windy April morning, full of all implements of dirt and noise—men, women, children, cows, horses, waggons, carts, pigs, dogs, geese and chickens, busy, merry, stirring little world, farewell! Farewell to the breezy common, with its islands of cottages and cottage gardens, its oaken avenues populous with rooks; its clear waters fringed with gorse, where lambs are straying; its cricket ground where children already linger, anticipating their summer revelry; its pretty boundary of field and woodland and distant farms; and latest and best of its ornaments, the dear and pleasant mansion where dwell the neighbours of neighbours, the friends of friends; farewell to ye all! Ye will easily dispense with me, but what I shall do without you I cannot imagine. Mine own dear village, farewell!” [Illustration] CHAPTER XXXVIII SWALLOWFIELD The “flitting” was accomplished in September, 1851. “I was compelled to move from the dear old house,” writes Miss Mitford; “not very far; not much further than Cowper when he migrated from Olney to Weston and with quite as happy an effect. “I walked from the one cottage to the other in an Autumn evening when the vagrant birds whose habit of assembling here for their annual departure gives, I suppose, its name of Swallowfield to the village, were circling and twittering over my head. “Here I am now in this prettiest village, in the snuggest and cosiest of all snug cabins; a trim cottage garden divided by a hawthorn hedge from a little field guarded by grand old trees; a cheerful glimpse of the high road in front, just to hint that there is such a thing as the peopled world; and on either side the deep, silent, woody lanes that form the distinctive character of English scenery. Very lovely is my favourite lane, leading along a gentle declivity to the valley of the Loddon, by pastoral water meadows studded with willow pollards, past picturesque farm-houses and quaint old mills, the beautiful river glancing here and there like molten silver.” Again she writes: “I am charmed with my new cottage.... It stands under the shadow of superb old trees, oak and elm, upon a scrap of common which catches every breeze and I see the coolest of waters from my window.” We have visited Swallowfield Cottage, have been into its various rooms and have wandered about its pretty garden. No wonder that Miss Mitford felt it to be a sweet and peaceful home to retire to! The front court is now a pretty piece of garden with a small lawn and with borders of flowers on either side of the path which leads to the front door from the garden gate. The house has been enlarged in recent years by the addition of a small wing on the left-hand side, while two shallow bay-windows have also been introduced—but it is still a cottage in appearance.