in the storeroom four large chests
filled with silver, destined for our use. My father had Barbara's
brought to him and examined it carefully; this chest will be sent to
Warsaw, that the silver may be cleaned.

The palatine and the starost leave us to-morrow. They go to Sulgostow,
where they will make all the preparations necessary for Barbara's
reception.

My father has had the customary letters written to announce the
marriage, and will send them by the chamberlains to the various parts of
Poland. The most distinguished among our chamberlains, and an equerry
richly equipped, will depart in two days to carry letters to the king,
the princes his sons, the primate, and the principal senators. My father
announces the marriage, and begs them to give it their benediction; if
he does not exactly invite them, he gives them to understand that he
would feel highly honored by their presence. Ah! if one of the princes
were to come--the Duke of Courland, for example--what a lustre it would
throw upon the wedding! But they will merely send their representatives,
as is usual upon such occasions.

The castle is in a state of constant activity; great preparations are
making for the approaching festivities. The starost has displayed an
unexampled generosity; he has made us all the most beautiful presents.
He has given me a turquoise pin; Sophia has received a ruby cross; Mary,
a Venetian chain, and even my parents have condescended to accept gifts
from him. My father has a silver-gilt goblet, admirably chased; and my
mother, a beautiful box made of mother-of-pearl mounted in gold. Even
madame has not been forgotten, for she found a blonde mantle on her bed
this morning; she praises the generosity of the Polish lords to the
skies. But this is the only virtue she concedes to our nation, so that I
cannot love madame; her injustice toward my countrymen repels me. We had
yesterday a grand state supper; the orchestra played unceasingly, toasts
were drunk in honor of the happy couple, and the dragoons fired
numberless volleys of musketry; their captain gave them as their
watchword for the day, 'Michael and Barbara.'

Barbara begins to take courage; she only blushes now when she looks at
her ring; she hides it as much as she can; but it is of no use, for
every one sees it, and the brilliants sparkle like stars.

This morning all the court went hunting, in accordance with the old
custom, which renders this action of good omen to the wedded