the linen; we breakfast on white wine, and then lie on the grass till its fumes have passed off; after superintending the vintage, we take a rest in the shade of the woods or meadows; knock down the walnuts, and, after gathering our stock of fruit for the winter, spread it in the garrets. Adieu; there is some talk of breakfasting and going in a body to gather the almonds.
On another mellow October day, she thus banteringly addresses the same friend (with a passing allusion to Henry IV.'s letter):—
"Hang thyself, dainty Crillon!" we are making jams and jellies, and sweet wine, and sweetmeats, and you are not here to taste them! These, elegant Sir, are my present occupations. The vintage in the meantime is going on apace, and very shortly it will only be in the cellar of the master, and in the cupboard of the mistress of the house, that the wine and the delicious fruit will be found. This year's wine will be excellent; but we shall hare little of it, on account of the visit paid us by the bail: an honour which always leaves a dear and lasting remembrance behind it. Why, pray, do you not write to us? you who have no vintage to attend to; can there be any other occupation in the world beside?
Madame Roland's industry was by no means restricted to the care of her own household, where she was forced by circumstances to practise the strictest economy. Her bounteous activity overflowed the narrow limits of the family circle, and for miles round her unassuming dwelling the peasants looked upon her as a kind of Bona Diva, and turned to her confidingly in trouble or disease. Before medical women were thought of, she became the village doctor of her district, and within a circuit of two or three leagues the sick would send for her. Sometimes, in urgent cases, bringing a horse for her to ride, would come a country yeoman, praying her instantly to save the life of some dying relative. Madame Roland deprecates the notion of peasants not being grateful for kindness shown them. She declares, on the contrary,
