scarcely think Eichfeld's property will suit him.
"You see, my darling, I show great interest in the love affairs of your Orestes, but in so doing will not forget practical things, and beg you, if Mumm has not yet sent the Johannisberg and Rudesheim, to write to him at once. Also remind Daniel of the colored lanterns for the park, the illumination must extend to the last terrace, and Swan Island be particularly brilliant. The reflection of the light on the water will have a magical effect on the wonderful little lake, and I shall probably have the fireworks there. But Daniel must see that new lanterns can always be supplied, for the park must be illuminated every evening while the guests remain in the castle — which will undoubtedly be four or five days.
"I must close, for I have my hands full of business. Kiss the little bawler for me, and remember
"Your own
"Roderich."
"Unfortunately that is the end of the letter, mamma," said Erica, "and we have really discovered nothing." The old lady, who since the reading of the last letter had seemed to be struggling with some violent emotion, passed her hand over her brow, as if she wished to dispel unwelcome thoughts, and then said slowly:
"I should think we knew enough, my child. Agatha and Roderich are happily married, and she must have been received as an equal, for they seem to exercise the most magnificent hospitality at their castle. Probably afterwards they were never so situated as to find it necessary to exchange letters."
"And Eichfeld, mamma? You are certainly the lady who was a 'great beauty and very bewitching,'" said Erica mischievously, laying her head caressingly on her mother's shoulder.
"Is not the name of the place from which he writes given in any of the letters?" asked the old lady, without entering into her daughter's jest. "Look carefully, Erica."
Erica took the sheets in her hand again, and examined them as she was requested. "Here is 'Stockholm, April 6th,' but the year is not mentioned. And here again, 'Stockholm, May 20th.' Here there is nothing at all; here again no date. Herr Roderich was decidedly negligent, mamma. Ah! this last letter has the name — 'Coblenz, June 27th.'"
"I thought he must live on the banks of the Rhine, or at least in the immediate vicinity," said her mother, thoughtfully.
"How often I have attended such entertainments at the castles of the gay, pleasure-loving nobility! This last letter really made me think of home. But in spite of this, I know of no clue which could guide us in discovering the writer of these letters. Even if this Eichfeld were the one I once knew, he could give us no information, for he died young, and has been resting in his grave many years."
"And fat Count Steinbach, mamma?" "He died long, long ago, died when I was a betrothed bride, and, as he was unmarried, left his property to my cousin Vally."
"Suppose we should write to her, mamma?" A deep shadow flitted over the countenance of the elder lady. " I am now somewhat unaccustomed to communicate with my family," she said, after a long pause; "besides, Vally was educated in our house, and knew no more about her uncle Steinbach than I, so any inquiry would be useless. Moreover, the contents of the letters scarcely require such an exertion on our part. We know that their owner is dead, and her children could hardly have considered these papers of any special importance, or they would not have parted with them so carelessly."
The old lady spoke hastily, and with a certain sharpness of tone which was very unusual to her. Erica cast a hurried, questioning glance at her mother's agitated features, and a suspicion dawned upon her that these letters had aroused feelings which she wished to conceal, even from her daughter. With delicate tact, she therefore refrained from any farther questions, carefully folded up the papers, which had now become perfectly dry, and gave them to her mother, who silently placed them in one of the drawers of her writing-table.
A GLIMPSE OF ADRIANOPLE.
From a very interesting letter from Adrianople we take the following passages: —
"Adrinople (it is the local fashion to leave out the a) is in a very different condition to what it was a year or two years ago. Trade, indeed, is slack and commerce at a standstill; but the whole place, even to the back streets, is alive and thronged, and the crowds everywhere testify to activity. The road to the railway
