The Baron of Lichtfield was High Chamberlain and Minister of State to the King of Prussia, “Caroline,” said he to his daughter, as they one day sat at breakfast, “tell me, (the Baron had an insinuating smile as he spoke, with somewhat of pene tration in his look) tell me, dear Caroline, is thy heart free?”

“Sir!”

Caroline did not immediately comprehend his meaning.

“It is two months since I brought thee to court, from the retreat in which thou hadst been educated; and hast thou seen nobody, in that short space, no young courtier, to whom thy heart would give a preference?”

Caroline was but sixteen, and the question was of that kind that usually embarrasses, when addressed to a virgin of sixteen. Caroline, however, might reply without dread or hesitation. Her young bosom, as pure and tranquil as in the serene and jocund days of infancy, had never sighed, except for pleasures innocent and pure as itself. A new blown rose, a favourite bullfinch, or a fairy tale, had, hitherto, been the general limits of her hopes and fears. These pleasures, indeed, since she had come to court, had been somewhat superseded by a ball, a concert, or a new fashioned cap but that man might influence the happiness of her life had never yet entered her imagination. Those who were the best and most indefatigable dancers, certainly, gave her the greatest satisfaction, while at an assembly; but, the ball over, Caroline could sweetly sleep twelve hours together, awake with a song, and prepare for a new appointment, without thinking of the partner with whom she last had danced.

Her father had therefore rather surprised than confused her; and, after a short silence, she replied, “Your question, papa, is very singular!”

“It is very natural, my dear,” said the Baron: “and, moreover, I will endeavour to shew you it is likewise very important. Listen to me seriously, Caroline,” continued he, drawing his chair closer to her's, and tenderly clasping her hand.