worthy people. The trousseau is quite finished, and what has not already been sent to Sulgostow is packed in trunks, of which Mademoiselle Zavistoska has the keys. Besides this mademoiselle, Basia will take with her two young girls, her goddaughters, well trained in all kinds of needle-work, and as companion, one of the six damsels who have been brought up with us. When I am married I shall take still more; I have already solemnly promised three girls that they shall go with me; one of them is the daughter of our Peter. In his grateful joy, the old man bowed to my feet, and for the first time his forehead was free from wrinkles.

Sunday, February 22.

The wedding will be to-morrow. Our guests are numberless, and all the envoys are here. The king's envoy is the Secretary Borch; that of the Duke of Courland, his confidant the Castellanic [9] Kochanowski, a very handsome and polite cavalier; the proverb is right: "As the master, so the valet." I cannot possibly describe all the others; they arrived, as if by appointment, at the same hour yesterday, and their entrance was quite imposing. Before every one of them our dragoons presented arms, while the cannons were firing and the music playing. The greatest honors were shown to the king's envoy; the Count, having been informed of the hour of his arrival, was waiting with head uncovered on the drawbridge, and all our guests, courtiers, and servants stood in a double row up to the entrance door. As soon as the secretary stepped on the bridge they all shouted "Vivat!" and bowed low in salutation.

To-day, in the presence of the whole company, and before appointed witnesses, the marriage contract was written, but I do not know what it contains, as I have not understood a single word of it. I know only that the bride received many beautiful presents: from the Staroste three strings of oriental pearls; from the Woivode a rich diamond cross and an aigrette with diamond pendants; from the colonel an enamelled watch and chain; from Father Albert many relics; and from each relative a souvenir. Basia can hardly believe that all these riches belong to her; until now, her only jewel, besides her betrothal ring, was a small ring with the picture of the Holy Virgin on it, and I am sure Basia will not discard her old friend for all the costly jewels which she now receives.

The maid has just brought my négligé, washed and pressed; it looks very nice. There are twenty-five different kinds of lace-stitch in it; I am sure it will be becoming to Basia.

Shrove Tuesday, February 26.

All is over, and as Matenko says, "with a hundred horses one could not catch Mademoiselle Barbara any more;" she is Madame Starostine. I have much to tell.

Yesterday, very early in the morning, we rode to our parish church in Lisow, where the bride and the bridegroom went to confession and to communion. As it was cold the bride wore a white cloak of brocade silk, lined with white fox fur, and on her head a long lace veil.

When we returned breakfast was served, and soon afterwards the dressing of the bride commenced; twelve noble ladies headed by my honored Mother undertook that important task. The dress was of white satin, with watered silk stripes, a frill of Brabant lace with silver ornaments at the bottom, and a long train; a rosemary bouquet fastened the front of the corsage. On her head the bride wore a rosemary wreath held in place by a gold circlet on which was engraved the date of the wedding and good wishes in rhyme. According to the old Polish custom, my honored Mother fastened in the wreath a ducat with the date of Basia's birth-year, and a bit of bread for good luck; she also added to the above a lump of sugar in order to sweeten the married life, which they say has many difficulties. No jewels were allowed, for it is said that for each precious stone worn on the wedding day, one has to pay afterwards with a vial of tears. As it is, Basia has wept enough, so that her eyes are red and swollen.

A little in advance, the bridesmaids went downstairs; we were twelve, all dressed in white, and the eldest of us was not more than eighteen. The bridegroom with twelve groomsmen met us at the door of the parlor, and there we found all the guests assembled. An enormous tray was carried behind us, heaped with bouquets of rosemary and orange sprays, each tied with a white ribbon, which were destined for the young ladies and bachelors present at the wedding. To fasten on these bouquets, each bridesmaid had a certain number of gold and silver pins, and great care was to be used in distributing the different values according to the rank of each person. The elderly ladies have been teaching us for a long time about the method we should follow in order not to cause offence by giving the priority to persons of lesser rank, and we were sure we understood the lesson perfectly; but as soon as we were in the hall, everything was forgotten. At first, we began our task very gravely, then we went on with a smile, and finally we broke into laughter; many and many mistakes were committed, but all were pardoned, and our gaiety was so contagious that soon the married people and even the elderly ladies and venerable gentleman,—none of whom have any right to wear flowers on a wedding day,—all wanted a bouquet. The first heap disappeared; they brought a second tray full, and a third one; we had no more gold or silver pins, and had to use the ordinary ones, but they were received just as well. At the end everybody looked happy; all had their bouquets, and the room was like a garden.

But no, I am mistaken, not everybody was happy,—Matenko stood sad in a corner; although a bachelor he had received no flowers, and he looked as if he did not belong to the wedding party. I stepped up to him, and he said in a low, grieved voice: "I do not wonder that the other young ladies have not thought of me,—but Miss Frances, whom I have known as a baby, whom, for so many years, I have played with and amused, that she should forget me! Well, I will not come to her wedding, even if she marries a king's son!" I knew that I blushed half pleased, but was still more vexed at my forgetfulness.

I ran to the dressing-room, but there was not one bouquet left, for my honored Mother, hearing how the flowers were being appropriated in the hall, took the remaining ones for the ladies who were dressing the bride and for herself. The greenhouses were too far off to send there, and I wanted, at any price, a bouquet for poor Matenko. Suddenly a happy thought came to my mind: I caught a piece of white ribbon and returning hastily to the parlor, took off my bouquet and gave half of it, with the golden pin, to Matenko. He was so pleased! "Franulka," he exclaimed, "you are as kind as you are handsome! I am sometimes a prophet; remember, young lady, what I have said to you.... I shall keep these flowers till your wedding day, and who knows with what title I shall address you when giving them back?" How strange! Notwithstanding all the distractions of the day, his words are still ringing in my ears; and here I am writing about myself, when I ought to think only about Basia.

To return to the wedding: the folding doors were thrown open and Basia entered timidly, surrounded by the elderly ladies. The bridegroom approached and took her by the hand, and the two knelt down before my