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6 market and have not near enough to supply all those that would be my customers. When the dear child is tending the flock in the pastures, she cmploys herself in making works of plaited straw, which are admired by every body. I wish you were to see with what dexterity she weaves the ofter plain twigs, and mats the tender flexible rushes. There is nothing, let it appear ever so perfect, but what she can improve upon. Is she happy? said the Countess. She does all that she can to make us believe so, said the old pastor; but I have made my dame observe, that she oftentimes returns from the pasture with a dejected look, her eyes still moist with tears; but as soon as she sees us she effects a smile. 'Tis easy to perceive there is some gnawing grief that preys upon her heart, the cause of which we dare not ask. And then, said this old goody, what eoncernconcern [sic] does she not give me, when in spite of all our entreaties, the dear creature will, in the severest weather, lead abroad her bleating care. A thousand times have I requested her, in the most earnest manner, to let me now and then relieve her: but my requests have never been complied with. She rises with the sun, conduetsconducts [sic] the floekflock [sic], and does not return till it sets, often shivering with cold. How is it possible, my dear parents, she would say, with all the tenderness of a loving child, how is it possible that I should consent to let you leave your fireside, to be exposed, at your age, to the inelemencyinclemency [sic] of the season, which I, young as I am, can scarce support.—At the same time she comes loaded with faggots, whiehwhich [sic] she gathers in the wood; and when she scessees [sic] I am troubled at the fatigue she