Dear Child⁠—You, the joy of a whole house, you, whose white or rose-colored cape flutters in the summer like a will-o’-the-wisp through the arbors of Wierzchownia, followed by the wistful eyes of your father and mother⁠—how can I dedicate to you a tale full of sadness? But is it not well to tell you of sorrows such as a girl so fondly loved as you are will never know? For some day your fair hands may take them comfort. It is so difficult, Anna, to find in the picture of our manners any incident worthy to meet your eye, that an author has no choice; but perhaps you may discern how happy you are from reading this tale, sent by + 