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she came here in tho habit of a villager, and offered to tend our flock. She would have been welcome to share our little, without taking upon her that painful task; so much the sweetness of her person and behaviour engages our hearts. We could not believe she was bred in a cottage. Our questions made her uneasy. We desisted from farther enquiry, as they seemed to disturb her. As our knowledgo of her good qualities increased, so did our respect; but the more we strove to show her that respect, the more she humbled herself bofore us. No, never had any child for its parents a more tender regard, a moro constant care. She cannot obey, because it is impossible for us to command; but she dives into our hearts, and prevents our wishes when they are scarcely formed. She is an angel descended from heaven, to be the comfort of our age. What is she doing now in the sheepfold? asked the Countess. She milks the ewes and she-goats, fosters the young kids and lambs, and gives them fresh litter. The cheese she makes is thought delicious: no doubt for having been pressed with her neat hands. I carry it to the market, and have not near enough to supply all those that would be my customers. When the dear child is tending the sheep in the pasture, she employs 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 osier plain twigs, and mats the tender flexible rushes. There is nothing, let it appear ever so perfect, but what she can improve upon. You see, madam, continued tho good old damo, in all about you is tho image of an easy, contented life; it was she that procured it, it was she, this angolie creature, whoso only study is to make us happy. But is she happy? said the Countess. She does all she can to mako us believe so, said the old paster: but I havo made my damo observe, that she ofttimes returns from the pasture with a dejected look, her eyes still moist with tears; but as soon as sho sees us sho affects a smilo. It is easy to perceive there is somo gnawing grief that preys upon her heart, the causo of which we