a black
morocco case, which I had never seen before. My father opened it, and
drew forth a cup enriched with precious stones; it was in the form of a
raven; he showed it to all the guests, and said it had descended to him
by hereditary succession from the ancient Roman family of the Corvini,
and that he had never touched it since his own wedding day. He then took
from the butler's hand a large bottle covered with a venerable dust,
bespeaking great age. He told us, not without a certain pride, that this
wine was a hundred years old; he emptied all the contents into the cup,
leaving not a single drop, but as the goblet was not yet full, he poured
more of the same wine into it from another bottle, and finally drank it
off to the prosperity of the married pair. The toast was
enthusiastically received; the music again began to play and the cannon
to thunder. The cup went the rounds of the table, and its virtue was
such, that a hundred bottles of old wine were emptied before it had made
the entire circuit. After this crowning honor, each left the table as
best he could.

Night had already set in. The ladies went up into their rooms to change
their dress, but the bride and the young ladies attending upon her
remained as they were. Toward seven o'clock, when the fumes of the wine
were somewhat dissipated, all began to think of dancing, and the king's
representative opened the ball with Barbara. At first only Polonaises,
minuets, and quadrilles were danced, but as the guests became more
excited, they ventured upon Mazurkas and Cracoviennes. Kochanowski
dances the Cracovienne to perfection. According to the ancient usage,
the leader sings stanzas, which are repeated by the others. He
improvised one at the moment he began to dance with Barbara; as nearly
as I can remember, it ran as follows:

'Neither king nor palatine to-day would I be,
The fortune of the starost only give to me;
For he has truly merited the fair,
The lovely lady, sweet beyond compare.'

The ball and the toasts, which had been recommenced, as if none had been
offered before, were suddenly arrested, and a chair was placed in the
middle of the hall. The bride took her seat upon it, the twelve young
ladies began to loosen her headdress, singing in lamentable tones:

'Ah! Barbara, farewell,
We have lost thee!'

My mother took off her garland, and Madame Malachowska placed a laced
cap in its stead. I should have laughed heartily at thi