pair.
Formerly before they set out, the betrothed was obliged to display her
ankle to the hunters. God be praised that this custom no longer exists,
for I am sure Barbara would have died of shame. But our little Matthias
insisted upon the performance of this ceremony, saying that if it were
omitted the chase would certainly be unfortunate. For once his prophecy
failed; they killed a wild boar, two bucks, an elk, and many hares. The
starost killed the wild boar with his own hand, and laid it at Barbara's
feet.

My father had all the horses brought out of his stables for the hunters
to ride upon. Among them was one of exceeding beauty, but so
unmanageable that the best groom had never yet been able to mount him.
The starost was confident he could control him, and, notwithstanding
the terror of the spectators, he leaped on his back and guided him three
times round the castle of Maleszow. It was truly a noble sight. Barbara
was very pale; she trembled for her betrothed; but when she saw him so
firmly seated on the fiery animal, the bright color returned to her
cheek. From that moment I felt reconciled to the starost. In truth, he
is not so bad; he looks well on horseback, and possesses that dauntless
courage so dear to the heart of a woman. I must then forgive his
ignorance of the minuet and quadrilles. My father gave the starost the
horse he had so well merited, completely caparisoned, and with a groom
to take care of him.

Sunday, _January 20th._

I have neglected my journal during the past week; we have been so busy
with the preparations for the marriage; there are such crowds of people
at the castle; every one is occupied doing the honors; both mornings and
afternoons are passed in company. Our studies are laid aside--the
chronology, the French grammar, and even Madame de Beaumont lie quiet
and undisturbed in their places. We are busily engaged with our needles,
because each one of us desires to make a present to Barbara. I am
embroidering a morning dress, which will be charming; I even steal some
hours from my sleep that I may the sooner finish it. Mary is
embroidering a straw-colored muslin, with shaded silks mingled with gold
thread, and Sophia is making a lovely toilet cover.

My mother is entirely occupied with the trousseau; she opens her
wardrobes and chests, bringing out linen, cloth, furs, curtains, and
tapestry. I help her as well as I can; she is sometimes good enough to
ask my opinion; she is so scru