Csataképek. English

Csataképek. English Page 2

by Mór Jókai

  DEAR RELATIONS.

  One evening, towards the end of summer, my uncle, Lorincz Kassay, thesub-sheriff of the county, was seated on a bench before his_porte-cochere_, which stood wide open, without bar or gate, asbeseemed the entrance to the house of an hospitable Hungariangentleman.

  True, half a dozen dogs, nearly as large as bears, were lying lazilyabout the court, and might have rendered the entrance embarrassing topersons of hostile intention; but as for strangers in general, thesehonest guards were too well accustomed to see them treated as theangels were by Abraham, to take any further notice than by a friendlybark, and a slow shake of the tail.

  Uncle Lorincz Kassay sat enjoying his pipe, and calling across theroad to his assistant, who was likewise seated at the door of hishouse, enveloped in the same comfortable fumes. The conversation mighthave been carried on with more facility had one of these worthygentlemen crossed to the other side--the road being wide, and astentorian voice necessary to make one's-self understood--but the mudlay so deep between the two houses, that it was severe work for cartsand carriages to get through; and when it was absolutely necessary tocross the road, the passenger was obliged to make a considerablecircuit, by the garden and meadow, holding on by the rail, besidesreturning the same way: consequently Uncle Lorincz and his ally foundit less troublesome, and more convenient on the whole, to exert theirlungs in the manner above mentioned.

  Meanwhile my readers may be curious to learn how I am related to thisworthy gentleman; but this indeed I cannot tell. I only know that heis called by all who know him Lorincz Kassay, bacsi;[1] and I wouldadvise my friends likewise to adopt him as such, for he is athoroughly honest and honourable country gentleman, and will nevergive them cause to blush at his name. Let us keep up the good oldMagyar custom of calling our elders by the familiar titles of uncleand aunt, while we are privileged to those of nephews and nieces.

  [Footnote 1: _Bacsi_, contraction for _batya_--"elder brother," or"uncle."]

  Uncle Lorincz belonged to that medium class whose duty is to managethe laws and rights of the people, keep up their nationalprerogatives, look after their interests, in short, to labour withoutnoise or fame,--a man of whom neither history nor poets speak, for theupright and honourable man is not so rare a character among us as torender it necessary to emblazon his name in history; and what could apoet make of an honest man who has neither romance enough to carry offhis neighbour's wife, nor to shoot his best friend through the headfor looking askance at him? Such a man as Uncle Lorincz, for instance,who comes into the world without the aid of star or horoscope, growsup without becoming a virtuoso on the piano, goes through his classessatisfactorily, and without occasioning any mutiny, and, finally,returns like a dutiful son to his parents, who assist him to look outfor a good wife, whom he marries without any poetical occurrences; andwho, when his parents are gathered to their fathers, inherits theirblessing and their property unencumbered by debt--for this class ofour countrymen consider debt as a species of crime; their principlebeing that an honest man should not spend more than his income. Thisprinciple had taken such root in Uncle Kassay's mind, that, ratherthan run up an account at the shoemaker's, he has been known, in hisscholar days, to feign illness and keep his room, when his bootsneeded mending, until the necessary money arrived from home; and thesame sense of honour, combined with the most lavish hospitality,characterized him through life.

  Having been directly called upon by the county, he had accepted thesituation of szolgabiro or sheriff--which the Hungarian takes uponhimself _ex nobili officio_--from a generous sense of duty, ratherthan for the lucrative advantages attached to it, which by no meanscompensate for the dinners he is obliged to give; but he readily makesa sacrifice for the honour of the employment, and the confidence ofthe people in that incorruptible conscience which is chosen as theearthly providence of an entire district, to keep order and administerjustice among twenty or thirty thousand people.

  At the time our story commences, Lorincz and his worthy assistant wereactually discussing some affair of great moment across the road, whentheir attention was attracted by shrill voices, and, looking in thedirection of the sounds, they perceived a conveyance which it will beworth while to describe at length, as such things are not to be metwith every day, particularly now that railroads are making so greatinnovations in our old habits and fashions.

  It was a gentleman's caleche; the leather was somewhat spotted andgray, which may be easily accounted for, however, by the continualroosting of poultry on its roof. When or where the machinery had beencontrived, it would be impossible to decide, for, according tohistorical date, suspended caleches existed in the days of Lajos I.The form of the body might be compared to a water-melon cut in half,which body was so convulsed by its four high springs at eachirregularity of the road, that the tongues within ran the risk ofbeing severed in twain when they attempted to speak, while theirowners would certainly have been pitched out, had they not held wellon by the sides. It was as impossible to open the doors as it was toshut them, for which reason they were permanently secured bywell-knotted ropes. Above the two hinder wheels a large bundle ofstraw was attached, which threatened at every jerk to light on theheads of the inmates. Before this worthy ancestral memorial three veryquiet horses were attached, a pie-bald, a bay, and a white, all threeup to their ears in mud, and assisting one another with their shaggytails to whip the reins out of the coachman's hand, while their hidesexhibited various graphic traces of the whip.

  In truth, the noble animals did not lack good-will, but only thenecessary capabilities for the station they now filled, being honestcart-horses, neither born nor bred to draw an iron-springed caleche;and, sensible no doubt of their inability, they paused every tenminutes to draw breath instead, and to regard each other with dolefulexpressions.

  On one of these occasions--namely, when the horses paused, and did notseem disposed to proceed further--one of the four individuals insidethrust forth a head, and called in a shrill voice to the coachman tostop.

  The voice proceeded from one of the fair sex, whom we cannot atpresent describe, as the shawls and mufflers in which she wasenveloped only permitted a glimpse of her respectable nose to beseen; three other individuals filled the vehicle. Beside the lady sata figure in a fur mantle, whose only visible points were a vast beardand a meerschaum pipe, the bowl of which must have been guarded bysome singular providence, from having its neck broken at every jolt ofthe carriage.

  Opposite to mamma sat a hopeful sprig, whose head was so well thrustinto his lambskin cap, that only two scarlet ears protruded to view,turning and perking with unwearied scrutiny to suit their owner'scuriosity. The last place was occupied by a smaller boy, whose largewondering eyes were fixed on the muddy world around, and whose legsand feet coming constantly in contact with those of the gentlemanopposite, obliged the latter to draw up in the most inconvenientmanner possible.

  The horses having again paused, the lady, working her way with greatexertions through various cloaks and mufflers, called to the coachmanas before to stop, and, addressing one of the bystanders, who stoodgaping at the carriage, asked various questions relative to theposition of Mr. Lorincz Kassay's house; and having receivedsatisfactory answers, she once more muffled herself in her wrappings,and desired Marczi to proceed; on which he gave a lash to one horse,and the half-turned pole giving a blow to the second, the third tookthe hint, and they all three began to move, and proceeded in order fora few minutes, until they arrived in the village, where they once morepaused and hung their heads, while the lady, for the third time,called to Marczi to stop, fixing as usual on some person whom shewished to address.

  This time, the gentleman of the fur cloak and meerschaum pipe, losingall patience, cried out, "Zsuzsi, my dear, why the tartar are youcalling to Marczi again, when the plague is our having to stop sooften?"

  "Cannot you see, you thick-skull?" rejoined the fair lady sharply,"that is just the reason I call to him to stop, that folks may not seewe cannot get on!"

  Fortunat
ely the last person addressed happened to be the sheriff'sfootman, who offered to conduct them to the house, desiring thecoachman to follow, which was easy to say, but not so easy to put inexecution, until the good steeds had recovered breath in due time.

  Meanwhile, Uncle Lorincz, observing that the carriage was coming tohis house, blew the embers out of his pipe, and arranging his beard intwo points, advanced to meet his guests. After a good deal of labour,the vehicle at length struggled into the court, and, unfortunately, inthe confusion occasioned by the general efforts to rise from the heapsof wrappings, the good man managed to tread on some sensitive memberof his wife's foot. She returned the compliment with a thrust from herelbow, which caused him to stumble, thereby bringing the hot bowl ofhis pipe in contact with the face of his youngest boy, who, uttering acry of pain, raised both hands to protect his face, at the same timestriking up the pipe, which broke between the old gentleman's teeth.

  "Which of you did that?" cried he furiously, pulling the piece out ofhis mouth, and raising his hand threateningly over the heads of theyoungsters. But before the stroke of chastisement could beadministered, Marczi, throwing back his muddy coat, directed it soskilfully as to fall right over the boys' heads, filling the eyes ofthe whole party with dust and mud; and in the confusion of thisunexpected attack, the delinquent thought fit to make his escape asbest he could out of the carriage, smearing his clean white trouserswith the wheels. All these accidents took place in a much shorterperiod than I have taken to describe them.

  The sub-sheriff, his footman, and other retainers, had now come up tothe assistance of the travellers, and after many ineffectual effortsto open the carriage doors, they were obliged to give up that point,and lift out the inmates like so many bundles.

  The noise had brought down the lady of the mansion, who waited at thefoot of the stairs to welcome her guests. She was a comely littleround-faced woman, attired in a simple but well-made costume, to whichthe small flounced apron and blue-ribbon cap gave an air of coquettishsmartness. She held by the hand a little, dark-eyed, strawberry-lippedmaiden of about six years old, who, half hiding behind her mother'sdress, looked like an amourette preparing to take aim.

  The travellers being at last safely landed, the lady advanced to UncleLorincz with an air of amiable confidence, and began a formalintroduction.

  "Dear and worthy cousin, I have the pleasure of presenting to you inmy own person Susanna Sajtari, a cousin on the maternal side; being_en route_, we could not think of passing our dear cousin's house."

  "Welcome, welcome; God bless you!" cried Uncle Lorincz, saluting thelady with several hearty kisses on each cheek. "I am overjoyed at thisunexpected happiness; pray come in, the servants will carry upeverything directly."

  "Allow me to present my husband," began the lady.

  "Whist! don't tell my name," interrupted the gentleman in the furcloak; "let me see if my dear cousin remembers me," and laughingheartily, he seized both of Uncle Lorincz's hands, and waited for himto remember.

  It was rather an embarrassing situation for Uncle Lorincz, who had notthe slightest recollection of ever having seen his dear cousin before.

  "Pooh! how can he recognise you in that cap?" cried his faithfulpartner, snatching from her husband's head the prodigious two-earedfur cap, and exposing a good-natured countenance, with a large, baldforehead, and features which we meet in a thousand faces, without everdistinguishing one from the other.

  "Ay, do you know me now?" asked the worthy gentleman in a tone ofconfidence.

  Uncle Lorincz blushed to the ears, and would have given his bestmeerschaum to have been helped out of the unpleasant dilemma.

  "Oh! certainly, I remember--quite well," he replied, rubbing hisforehead with the tip of his forefinger; "perfectly remember; only thename will not come into my head."

  "Well, do you remember when we sat together at the Gyor elections in1830?"

  "Exactly, the name is on the tip of my tongue."

  Among the four thousand people who had assembled for the Raabelections ten years before, it would have been difficult to recall thefeatures of one in particular.

  "Well, I am that Menyhert Gulyas"--

  "Gulyasi!--exactly, so you are! Welcome with all my heart!" criedUncle Lorincz, much relieved at being at length freed from such a taxon his memory, although not a bit the wiser even after hearing thename.

  "And these are my two sons, Sandor and Peter," continued the worthylady. "Go and kiss your aunt's hand, boys."

  Sandor and Peter rushed forward in obedience to their mother'scommand; the younger succeeded in taking possession of his aunt'shand, which he fervently pressed against lips and nose, while sheslily put the other behind her back.

  "You are too old to kiss hands, my dear nephew," she said, at the sametime proffering her cheek to Sandor, who was so embarrassed at theidea of kissing his aunt, that he scarcely knew what he was about;and, after the ceremony, was thrown into such a tremor, that he trodesuccessively on his father's, mother's, and brother's toes.

  The great house-dogs now approached to take their part in thepatriarchal reception, thrusting in their cold noses, and licking thehands of the guests. And here we must observe, the house-dog is aninfallible index of his master's character. Where the great fellowcomes forward with marks of affection, you are always sure of a heartywelcome; but where, on the contrary, he lies still and growls, you mayexpect the question: "When will you be pleased to continue yourroute?"

  Having entered the hall, the compliments were renewed, according tothe Hungarian fashion: "Hozta Isten (God has brought you); receive usinto your good graces," &c. &c. Bundas and pelisses, shawls andkerchiefs, began to unwind from the persons of the travellers, and bydegrees each assumed his natural form.

  The worthy father of the family was a simple, good-natured looking manof about fifty, though the blackness of his teeth, caused by incessantsmoking, made him look considerably older. An amiable grin played onhis large, good-humoured countenance, while the colour which bloomedon his cheeks might have still passed for that of the spring-time oflife, had not the deeper tint in his nose told more of autumn, and thegood red grape.

  He wore a green dolmany, descending to the knees, with broad braid,and oval buttons; and, standing with his hands behind his back, andhis two spurred feet apart, he looked round on the company with agood-natured smile.

  His worthy partner was a short, spare figure, with a tolerablygood-looking face, the most remarkable feature of which was the nose.This nose could be turned up or down, and twisted right and left, atits owner's inclination, to suit the pleasure or displeasure shedesired to express; and the family had learned to interpret itsvarious evolutions so well, that in strange company their eyes wereconstantly fixed upon it, as the steersman's on the prow; and good Mr.Menyhert Gulyasi has been observed, on more than one occasion, to stopshort in the midst of his speech at some sudden contortion of theleading feature of his better half.

  Nephew Sandor was a long strip of a youth, with smooth, puffy cheeks,and a snub nose. Nature had amply provided him with hands and feet, ofwhich he seemed painfully aware; for he kept the former in perpetualmotion, as if endeavouring to get rid of them, while the latter had apeculiar call for stumbling over and treading on everything they camein contact with.

  The smaller boy never left his mother's side, holding fast by herdress--finding it at the same time a convenient place of refuge forhis nose.

  When the guests were made tolerably comfortable, and their hosts hadsufficiently insisted on their considering themselves at home, thelady of the house disappeared for a few minutes to give some hastyorders in the kitchen, to the execution of which, sudden cacklings ofvarious feathered tribes in the court-yard bore conclusive testimony.

  When she returned, Uncle Lorincz invited Menyhert and nephew Sandor tohis own sitting-room, to smoke a pipe with him. Before reaching theapartment, however, it was necessary to pass through several doors, ateach of which a scuffle ensued with nephew Sandor, who could not beprevailed on to ent
er before Uncle Lorincz. There was a cheerful firein the open stove, with a large wood-basket beside it; comfortablearm-chairs were ranged around, and the pipe-stand stood forthinvitingly with its many silver-covered meerschaums.

  "Pray sit down," said Uncle Kassay, rolling out the arm-chairs, andshowing his guests a good example.

  Gulyasi seated himself opposite; but Sandor could by no means think ofsuch a thing.

  "He is not accustomed to much sitting," observed his father.

  "Well, well, let him do as he likes," said Uncle Lorincz, leaving himto stand like a propping-post against the wall; for he was not awarethat our nephew required to have the chair pulled under him, and to beforcibly pushed into it, before his modesty would allow him to acceptsuch an offer.

  "Take a pipe," said Uncle Lorincz, handing to him the tobacco-bag. Theyouth declined.

  "Much obliged," said his father for him; "Sandor does not smoke." Hedid smoke, however; but was too well brought up to let strangers seethat he knew anything of the comforts of life.

  Uncle Lorincz and his guest were soon engaged in an interestingconversation, by which it appeared that Menyhert had his own ideas,and ventured to express them too, in the absence of his better half,and uninfluenced by the motions of her nose.

  He declared, in the first place, that it would be much more prudent tomake steam-horses to draw boats instead of steam-boats, and therewould be no risk of the boats being blown up if the boiler burst. Thenhe remarked that it would be advisable to propose at the next Diet aprohibition of the cultivation of potatoes, as the increase of thisarticle in the market would be highly prejudicial to the growth andsale of wheat.

  Then he uttered imprecations against the new system of pasturage, bywhich Government proposed introducing sheep instead of the great studswhich had hitherto been kept on the heaths; "so that in case of war,"continued the worthy gentleman, "the noblemen would be obliged to rideon sheep-back."

  Finally, he expressed his opinion that the rising generation should beinterdicted the use of mantles, as the students were in the habit ofconcealing their violins beneath them, and amusing themselves at thepublic houses, dancing and fiddling, to the neglect of their studies,thereby making this garment a cloak to all bad morals.

  A loud "Ha, ha, ha! he, he, he!" suddenly broke forth from the cornerin which Sandor was standing. Both gentlemen turned to see what wasthe matter.

  "Father's shadow on the wall is so funny when he speaks!" exclaimedthe youth, holding both hands over his mouth to restrain his laughter.

  "Perhaps you are cold, nephew, as you are standing with your backagainst the stove?" said Uncle Lorincz, fearing that Menyhert wasabout to reprove his hopeful son. "Come, my boy, you will never get awife if the girls catch you standing behind the stove."

  "That would be a sad story," said the father, making grimaces to hisson; "for we are now _en route_ to get a wife for him."

  "The tartar!" exclaimed Uncle Lorincz, turning to the stripling withinterest; "so we have a bridegroom here! come, man, let us look at youa little nearer."

  But it would have required a large pair of tongs to draw our nephewfrom behind the stove.

  "And what does the young man say to the prospect of a fireside of hisown? and who is the chosen fair one?" asked Uncle Lorincz.

  Menyhert crossed his legs and looked up to the ceiling, as he was wontto do when discussing matters of weight. "Well, the girl is no otherthan Carolina Berkessy, the only child of my worthy friend, GaborBerkessy, pronotarius of the county of Csongrad; her father promisedher to my eldest son, when she was still in the cradle."

  "Well, all I can say is, she is a very fine girl," replied UncleLorincz; "a very fine family altogether, and not a thing to berejected, if he gives his consent."

  "Gives his consent!" cried Menyhert, not without some offence; "andwhy should he withhold his consent?"

  "Why, only because my nephew is rather young--that's all," repliedUncle Lorincz.

  "What of that?" said his father proudly; "he has sense enough: I willventure to say that in any company. He attained eminence in everydepartment at school--But what the tartar smells so strong? You aresingeing your coat, boy! I desired you not to lean against the stove."

  Sandor lifted up one of the flaps of his coat, in which a large holewas already burned.

  "Sit down, you ass!" said Menyhert to his accomplished son, who eyedthe damage, as if considering how to get it washed out.

  Uncle Lorincz, seeing that the conversation was taking rather anunparliamentary turn, endeavoured to revive the former subject. "Andprobably my nephew has passed his examination too?" he asked.

  "And with great credit," replied his father, forgetting the burntcoat; "that severe G----, who puzzled all the young men, was anexaminer. Tell us what he asked you, Sandor; come, say it off."

  Sandor was quite ready to say it all off, but he required to bepressed.

  "Well: _Quomodo_"--

  But at that instant the wood-basket swallowed up our nephew, who hadsat down upon it, and, unfortunately, not having been intended forsuch service, the lid had broken under him, and he disappeared inside,with the exception of his hands and feet, which still remainedwithout.

  At this sight Uncle Lorincz could no longer contain himself, but burstinto such a hearty laugh that he almost rolled off his chair. Happily,by dint of struggling, the basket overturned, and Sandor succeededwith some difficulty in creeping forth.

  His father, having first looked to see that no bones were broken,prepared to make a terrible explosion; and it is impossible to say howthe affair might have ended, had not the footman entered to announcethat supper was ready.

  * * * * *

  Meanwhile Aunt Zsuzsi had also initiated her hostess in the mysteriesof their journey, with all its circumstances, and various innocentadditions, such as, that her son Sandor had attained the highesthonours, and that all the girls in their neighbourhood weredesperately in love with him, although he never looked at one of them,considering it his duty only to fall in love with whoever his parentsshould choose for him, and so forth. This interesting conversation wassuddenly interrupted by loud cries issuing from the nursery; andlittle Klarika appeared, sobbing out that Peterke had first twistedher doll's neck, and then threatened to strike her.

  "You naughty boy!" said mamma, as the little urchin came sliding inbehind, "where shall I find a rod to punish you with? Is this the wayyou behave in your aunt's house? Come here, directly."

  Peterke not only would not come out, but retreated under the bed,looking out from below at dear mamma, and neither threats norentreaties could prevail on him to quit his position. Supper was nowannounced.

  "Just stay where you are," said mamma, "and I shall lock the door tillwe return from supper."

  The head of the family having entered with his guests, the whole partyproceeded to supper, with the exception of little Peterke, and tooktheir places round the table, which latter ceremony, however, did nottake place without a good deal of trouble, each person payingcompliments to his neighbour, during which the lady of the house wasobliged to use force to make her guest sit at the head of the table;while a complete struggle took place at the opposite side betweenUncle Lorincz and Sandor; the former, however, being the stronger ofthe two, at last succeeding in placing our nephew beside him.

  "You must learn, my dear boy," said Uncle Lorincz, "what the highsheriff of Bihar taught me while I was his clerk; when I was invitedto my principal's table, and I too pleaded for the lowest place--'Justsit down where you like,' said the excellent man, 'and rest assured,wherever that is, it will always be the lowest place.'"

  When a blessing had been asked, the savoury gulyas hus[2] was broughtround, the very name of which, even on paper, seems to emit thatdelicious flavour which every Hungarian housewife knows so well togive it.

  [Footnote 2: A favourite national dish. It is a stew or hash of beef,with onions and red pepper, and other spices.]

  After the gulyas came the fogas;[3] fortuna
tely the footman carried itround, otherwise the company would have been obliged to draw lots whoshould be helped first. When it came to Sandor's turn, he declined, tothe surprise of every body.

  [Footnote 3: A fish said to be peculiar to the Balaton or Platten Lakein Hungary, and to the Black Sea and the Wolga. It is the _PercaLucioperca_.]

  "You don't eat fogas?" said Uncle Lorincz, opening his eyes wide.

  "Thank you," replied his father for him; "he eats very little ingeneral."

  "Hm! perhaps the boy is particular," thought Uncle Lorincz.--"Well,there may be something else which he will be able to eat."

  Then came a dish of good turos galuska,[4] the crisp pastry smilingfrom out of the rich curds and cream, and still hissing on the dish.

  [Footnote 4: Balls of pastry in curds.]

  "You will eat some of this?" said Uncle Lorincz, turning to hisneighbour, as the dish came round.

  "I thank you, I am not hungry; and I have a little headache."

  But our nephew was as hungry as anybody else, and had not theslightest headache. The fact was, he was not accustomed to eat tillafter he had been pressed a dozen times, and his plate filledperforce.

  For once, however, there was short work with our nephew's customs; forUncle Lorincz, believing what he said, sent on the good turos galuskawith a sigh, admitting it was certainly no cure for a headache; andconsequently Sandor was obliged to keep up the farce during the wholetime of dinner, while his eyes were actually starting from his headwith hunger.

  "Drink something, at least, if you do not eat--it will do yourheadache good," said Uncle Lorincz, taking up the good Eger[5] wine.But Sandor would never have forgiven himself had he not snatched asidehis glass as Uncle Lorincz was in the act of pouring out the wine.

  [Footnote 5: From Eger or Erlau, a town between Pesth and Tokay.]

  "Much obliged," said his father, "but he does not drink wine."

  "The tartar! he does not!" exclaimed Uncle Lorincz; "well, he is arare child--neither eats, drinks, nor smokes! why, he will be amillionnaire! I am heartily sorry that you have got a wife for himalready; otherwise I should have asked you to wait until my girl ismarriageable."

  Meanwhile there was another individual who followed quite a differentcourse from that of nephew Sandor, and that was little Peterke.

  Finding himself locked in, he first only pettishly came out from hisstronghold, waiting for some one to coax him to come to dinner; but,finding that the door was locked, and that knives and forks wereactually clattering without him, he took it quite to heart, and begancalling to mamma to let him out.

  "Never mind him, let him cry," said mamma, who found this littleepisode highly interesting. But the kindly Klarika, when she thoughtnobody was observing, hastily concealed a turkey's pinion and a largepiece of apple-tart, and ran off with them to the nursery--contentingherself with this generous revenge for the havoc done to herplaythings. On this the little urchin became quiet.

  When supper was over, the mutual compliments were repeated, duringwhich Sandor took an opportunity of thrusting into his pocket a rollof bread, which he had not ventured to touch at dinner.

  Aunt Zsuzsi now opened the door with great solemnity, to release thelittle delinquent, whom they found dancing about with greasy cheeks,and holding up in triumph the remains of the turkey's leg.

  "Oh, you rascal!" exclaimed mamma, catching hold of him, and wipinghis cheeks; "go directly and kiss your aunt's hand, and beg her pardonfor being so rude."

  Peterke slid over, drawing his mouth and nose to one side, as if heexpected that the hand he was ordered to kiss was preparing to givehim a box in the ear; and it was only on being convinced of thecontrary that he resumed his former confidence, and ventured to askfor another piece of apple-tart, on receiving which he had thecomplaisance to show the company, by way of a return, how a largepiece of pastry might be crammed into two cheeks.

  Who was enduring greater torment than our nephew Sandor all this time?Hungry as a wolf, with only a small white roll in his pocket--and howto eat it! Wherever he went, he was sure to be seen; his only resourcewas to wait till everybody went to bed, and then eat it in the dark;but the two gentlemen, meanwhile, got so deeply engaged inconversation, that there was no saying when it might end.

  At last he summoned up courage to say he would go out a little, andwalk in the garden.

  "In the garden!" repeated Uncle Lorincz; "why, it is quite dark, andthe mud is very deep."

  "I will sit upon a bench."

  "That will be a fine walk--ha, ha, ha!"

  "Perhaps the air would do my head good."

  "Well, do as you like, my boy; you are at home here."

  Sandor, finding himself at liberty, descended to the garden in greatdelight. Just below the back window of Uncle Lorincz's apartment,which looked out upon the garden, stood a winter pear. Uncle Lorinczthought he heard this tree shaking, and going to the window, he coulddistinguish our nephew pulling the unripe pears, and cramming theminto his mouth.

  "Well, he is a strange youth!" thought Uncle Lorincz, as he returnedto his seat.

  Before retiring for the night, the guests took leave of their kindhosts--declaring that they must set out at break of day, and would notdisturb them--after which they were conducted to their apartments,and soon lay buried in the great down feather-beds and snow-whitepillows, with their neat laced and ribboned covers. The coachman hadbeen desired to harness the horses at four o'clock, and not to awakeanybody; but when our provident guests rose in the morning, they foundthe whole household on foot, and a comfortable breakfast prepared, ofcoffee, rolls, cold meat, and plum brandy. This time, Uncle Lorinczgave his bashful nephew no peace until he had actually forced down histhroat all that was eatable and drinkable--seeing that he was in thehabit of being thus treated. When breakfast was over, there was amutual interchange of affectionate speeches, and Uncle Lorincz oncemore packed up his guests in their cloaks and furs, thrusting a longcylindrical bottle of plum-brandy into Uncle Menyhert's pocket, whilehis wife put a large, fresh-baked cake into Aunt Zsuzsi's hand, andlittle Klarika provided the young Sphinx with an ample supply of coldpastry; and after exacting from their guests a promise to visit themagain on their return, they all took leave--Uncle Lorincz accompanyingthem a few miles on horseback, to point out the best road across theplains.

  * * * * *

  And now we must beg our readers to draw on their three-leagued boots,and step into the neighbouring county. Here, too, the roads lie deepin mud; for the rain continues during seven weeks in these districts,as it does in the East Indies. Here, too, are villages on thehighroad, and houses with open doors, and travellers hastening towardsthem. But now it is question of a house whose doors are shut, and oftravellers who do not stick in the mud.

  A handsome carriage, drawn by four spirited grays, was driven by ayoung gentleman, while the smart-liveried coachman sat beside him.

  The youth was slightly flushed with the exercise: he wore alow-crowned hat, and light summer dolmany, while his embroidered furcloak lay across the seat. Guiding the horses dexterously over thedifficult roads and rickety bridges, he finally turned aside abouthalf way through the village, and drove rapidly towards a dilapidatedhouse, before which he was obliged to rein up his horses, as the_porte-cochere_ was closed.

  "Hej! ho!" cried the coachman, leaping from the box, and knocking atthe door.

  "Go in at the side-door, and open the _porte-cochere_ yourself, Matyi;but take the whip with you, or else the dogs will tear you to pieces."

  The coachman did as he was desired. No sooner had he reached thecourt, than a terrible encounter took place between the dogs andMatyi, who swore and lashed away with his whip until he had succeededin opening the gate.

  The tumult brought out a buxom dame, whose appearance betokenedsomewhat more than a cook, and somewhat less than the lady of thehouse. Standing at the entrance, with her arms a-kimbo, she exclaimedin a sharp, shrill voice: "What diabolical noise is this, I shouldlike to know? are
the Turks or the French coming, eh?"

  Meanwhile, Matyi having opened the _porte-cochere_, the carriage droveinto the gateway; and the young man, leaping from the box, andthrowing the reins to the coachman, stepped up to the dame, who eyedhim askance, with an expression of dried plums, as if doing her bestto make herself as disagreeable as possible to the new-comers.

  "Ah! my sweet Boriska," said the young man gaily, "how handsome youhave grown since we last met! I thought you were to be married thatcarnival; but I suppose it was premature, eh?"

  "Well, you have grown ugly enough yourself, Master Karely, since I sawyou last: you were a pretty child, but I should not have known youagain."

  "Thank you, Boriska, dear. Is my uncle at home?"

  "Where else should he be?"

  "Because I have come to see him, with my mother and sister."

  "What! are they here too?" said the dame, fixing her sharp eyes on thecarriage, like a two-pronged fork. "Well, I can't understand how folkscan leave home, and wander abroad for weeks."

  "Call my uncle, there's a dear girl, and you can help one another toscold."

  The beauty cast another sour glance at the vehicle, and disappearedinto the kitchen. Karely, meanwhile, opened the carriage door, and themud being deep in the gateway, he lifted out the two ladies in hisarms. One was his mother--a calm, ladylike person about forty, with asweet, melancholy expression: the other was his sister--a merry,mischievous looking little fay of about twelve, with bright sparklingeyes and rosy cheeks, and a constant smile on the never-closed lips.

  "Welcome kindly! We will not wait for them," said Karely, laughing, ashe lifted them out and opened the door, which Boriska had shut behindher.

  Our readers having had a slight glance at the travellers, I mustinform them that the lady who has just arrived is Mrs. ErzsebetHamvasi, sister of Abraham Hamvasi, to whose house they have come, andwhich had been left equally to the lady and her brother by theirparents--although Erzsebet Hamvasi, subsequently Tallyai, had left herbrother in undisturbed possession, only desiring an occasionalreception when _en route_.

  As Karely opened the door, Boriska appeared at the farther end of theroom, calling into the stove: "Come out; you have guests here." Towhich a voice from within responded: "Let them wait." After a fewminutes, a door opened behind the stove, and a man of spare bentfigure advanced towards the travellers. His face was disfigured bysmall-pox, and rendered grotesque by a pair of stiff gray moustaches,which grew straight forward from under the nose, leaving only theextremities of the lips visible, and giving him very much theappearance of an otter. He wore an old stuff coat--too cool for winterand too warm for summer--the sleeves of which were turned up to theelbow; for he had just come out of the stove, which he had beenplastering, and both hands were covered with mortar.

  To judge by his countenance, he certainly did not seem endeavouring tolook pleased to see his dear relations; and though the lady greetedhim amiably, he did not seem much inclined to open the other side ofthe door at which she was standing, waiting for her brother's welcome.

  "What! so many of you!" he exclaimed, pushing open the door with hiselbow; "where the tartar are you all going?"

  The lady shook her head placedly, and pointing to her brother's dirtyhands--"How now, dear brother!" she said, in a half reproachful andhalf jesting tone; "must you really do such work yourself?"

  "It is no shame to work," replied her brother; "never trust to otherswhat you can do yourself."

  "I would kiss your hand, dear Uncle Abris, if you would put ongloves," said Karely, laughing.

  "Easy enough for fine gentlemen like you to speak, but a poor man mustdo what he can.--Boris! bring me a bowl of water to wash my hands, forthese gentle folks are ashamed to stand in the room with me."

  "Dirty the dishes, indeed!" cried Boris sharply; "there is the tub."

  Master Abris went and washed in the tub; then, lifting up thebed-quilt, he wiped his hands and face in the sheet, with so manygrimaces, that it was evident he was undergoing an unusual penance.

  The guests meanwhile entered the sitting-room. Every room has its ownpeculiar perfume. On entering some apartments an agreeable friendlyodour, which we cannot account for, greets the sense, while others areso close and so unpleasant that we involuntarily retreat. Theapartment of Uncle Abris was among the latter. The walls were soiledand daubed with pencil scrawls of several years' standing; there was athick carpet of straw and feathers beneath the beds; the furniture wasan inch deep in dust, and it was impossible to see out of the windows,which had cobwebs in every corner.

  The lady sighed deeply as she entered this apartment; one could almostread on her countenance, that she was recalling brighter days, wheneverything in the house looked very different from what it did now.

  Uncle Abris, having very coldly kissed each of the party, endeavouredto smile a little; but not succeeding, he gave it up, and his featuresresumed their usual hard, anxious expression.

  His guests would gladly have taken off their cloaks, but where shouldthey put them down? It would have been ruin to clean clothes to comein contact with anything in the room.

  "I should like to sit down somewhere, Uncle Abris," said Sizika,looking round her with innocent scrutiny.

  "Well, my dear, here are plenty of chairs, and a sofa," said UncleAbris.

  "What! _may_ I brush off all this pretty dust?" asked Sizikaroguishly. "I thought it was put here to dry."

  Karely laughed; while his mother put her finger to her lips, and shookher head; and Uncle Abris answered quietly, "Dust we are, and untodust we must return, and therefore we need not despise dust;" and, inorder to strengthen the golden precept, he lifted the flaps of hiscoat, and, wiping three chairs for his guests, seated himself on afourth.

  The lady placed herself down opposite to her brother. One was silent,the other did not speak; and so they remained nearly an hour.Occasionally one or other would sigh deeply, "Heighho!" on which theother would reply, a quarter of an hour after, "Ay, ay!"

  Karely having gone out to look at the horses, Erzsike went to thewindow, and, wiping one of the panes with her pocket handkerchief,tried to look through it. You must not be perplexed, dear readers, atour having first called this merry little fairy Sizika, then Erzsike;both denominations come from the same source, and there is perhaps noname in the Hungarian language which admits of so many variations torepresent the various gradations from the utmost refinement to thegreatest coarseness; hence the tender, caressing Siza, the gay,roguish Erzsike, the robust, noisy Erzsu, and the dirty, untidy Boske.

  It never entered Uncle Abraham's head to ask his guests if they wantedanything; he only sat and sighed. Matyi, the coachman, a smart ladfrom Lower Hungary, now entered; he had been a csikos,[6] and was aninveterate specimen of cleverness and roguish insolence.

  [Footnote 6: _Csikos_, who take care of the horses and studs of thevast meadows or heaths, called _puszta_.]

  "Is there any hay to be sold here, sir?" he asked, saluting the masterof the house.

  "Hay! hay! for whom do you want hay?"

  "Not for myself, sir, but for my horses--that is, not for my horses,but for my master's."

  "Well, let's see; I believe I can give you a little," said Hamvasi,weighing each word, as he took the key of the barn from his pocket,and went out. The guests could hear the murmurs of Boris outside thedoor:--"The tartar take them all! to come to an honest man's housewith four horses, just that they might devour more hay, as if two werenot enough!"

  Master Abraham gave the key to Matyi, making him promise not to dropany of the hay about, because it was dear; and, after watching till hehad returned, he re-entered, and resumed his seat without speaking.

  In a few minutes, Matyi came in again: "Where shall I find a tavernsir?"

  "A tavern! what do you want a tavern for?"

  "Not for the horses, sir, but for myself. I want to get a glass ofwine."

  "Well, I will give you one just now," said Uncle Abris, and taking thekey of the cellar, he went out, desir
ing Matyi to wait at theentrance.

  Boriska stormed and dashed about, scolding and holding forth toherself.

  Scarcely had the old gentleman re-entered and silence resumed herreign, than Matyi appeared a third time: "Boriska wants to know, sir,what she shall cook for supper?"

  "Supper! are you used to sup?" asked Uncle Abris, turning to hisguests.

  "That we are," replied Karely quickly, before his gentle mother hadtime to say the contrary.

  Master Abris sighed deeply, rose and went into the kitchen, whence hewas heard talking in a low voice to Boriska, who, on the contrary,spoke as loud as possible, so as to be heard in the next room.

  "What! that beautiful fowl!--have you lost your senses? I make a firenow! there is no wood cut. Let them eat cheese, there is plenty ofbread. Indeed I shall not open the pot of preserves--I can't kneadpuddings, I've a sore hand. I am not a cook; and why don't you keepone, if you want to turn innkeeper?"

  All this was heard distinctly by the guests within. And now, for once,Uncle Abris really got into a passion, and, going out to the court, hestruck down a renowned cock with the rolling-pin, and, lighting a firehimself, he set to work to pluck it, till Boriska, seeing it was invain to oppose, snatched the cock from his hands and turned him out ofthe kitchen.

  In about two hours the banquet was ready. The unhappy cock had beenburnt to a cinder, and his bones were not harder than his flesh. Thehalf-baked bread stuck to the knife when it was cut, and to the palatewhen it was chewed; and the dishes were so full of salt and cayennethat tears came into the eyes of the eaters.

  The lady sat at the head of the table, and scarcely tasted anything;she sighed deeply on seeing the worm-eaten holes in her dear mother'stable-linen, the well-known knives and forks loosened from theirdeer's-horn handles, and the old family plate all bruised and broken.What may not a man come to who has no wife to keep his house in order!

  During supper Uncle Abris, having taken some wine, ventured to breakthe silence, and asked his sister whither she was _en route_.

  She replied, smiling, that they were going to visit Gabor Berkessy.

  "What! to that detestable man!" exclaimed Uncle Abris, somewhat underthe influence of the wine.

  "Why is he a detestable man?" asked Karely, half amused, halfannoyed.

  "Because when I was a student in Debreczen he informed upon me oncefor visiting a tavern. I was punished by twenty-four hours'confinement, and I have never forgotten it since."

  And yet it was good thirty years ago!

  "And what are you going there for, if I may ask?" continued UncleAbris.

  The lady did not answer; on which Siza took up the conversation: "Weare going to look out for a wife. Mr. Berkessy has a daughter whowould just suit my brother."

  "Hm!" replied the old man, ungraciously looking over his shoulder atKarely; "you are still a child."

  "That is just the reason we want to get him married," replied Sizikedemurely. "He is a good lad, but somewhat unsteady; when he has awife, his understanding will come. And then," she continued, "it ismuch better to marry young, than to grow old, and fall into the handsof some virago."

  The child spoke these words with such peculiar gravity, that Karelycould scarce restrain his laughter; her mother shook her head, andUncle Abris looked as if he were sharpening his teeth to devour her.

  "Hm! you know how to talk at least; can you bake bread too?"

  "Oh! that I can, uncle, though I do not know that I could dress theszalonna[7] for it."

  [Footnote 7: Szalonna is a kind of fat which they are fond of eatingwith bread in this district; but the same name is applied to the wetdough which is found in badly-baked bread.]

  Uncle Abris saw that he was losing ground, and moved back his chair,which was a signal to the rest of the party to rise; and, after theusual ceremonies on leaving table, the guests asked to be shown totheir apartments, whither Uncle Abris conducted them, giving each acandle, which he begged them to put out as soon as they went to bed.

  There were rooms enough in the house, but it was melancholy to seethem. Pease, maize, and onions lay in every corner; and the beds werejust in the condition in which they had been left by the lastoccupants.

  Karely went to the smaller of the two rooms which had been allottedthem, and in a few minutes he was in bed.

  "Dear mamma, we shall freeze here," said little Sizike, feeling theice-cold pillows; "what shall we do?" and knocking at Karely's door,she asked if he were asleep.

  "What do you want, Sizike?"

  "We cannot undress here, Karely, there are no curtains on thewindows."

  "Well, blow out the candle."

  "O dear! I am afraid in the dark!"

  "Then lock the door."

  "The door will not shut properly."

  "Well, wait, Boske, I will get up and sleep there, and you can comehere with mother," and, jumping up and out of bed, he dressed and cameinto the next room, putting the ladies into his.

  "And now confess, Erzsu," he said, trembling with cold; "why did youcheat me out of my warm bed into this cold one?"

  "Because you had warmed it already," replied Erzsike, merrily.

  There is nothing gayer than the childish mirth between brother andsister. Even the mild lady laughed heartily. But it was no easy matterto get warm, even under feather beds. Such rooms attract the cold allthe winter; and even in summer, if the weather is damp, one is apt toget chilled and cold. Scarcely had our travellers fallen into anuneasy sleep, than an inconsiderate cock crew loudly just under theirwindows.

  "Karely, do you hear the ghost of the cock we ate last night?" criedSizike, waking up.

  It was out of the question trying to sleep again; and in a short timethey all rose and dressed, feeling in every limb as if they had beenbeaten.

  There is a great art in making beds. In some beds you fall asleepimmediately on lying down: the pillows, which have been placed out inthe sun, have still the freshness and natural heat which they haveattracted; the mattresses and feather-beds are so skilfully arranged,that every limb feels at home, and on whichever side you lie, youawake on it next morning; while in others, turn which way you will,you can never find a place--now shivering, now perspiring, you try tosleep, but start up in a fright,--the woodworm gnaws and bores, thebed creaks and cracks. If at last you do fall asleep, it is to dreamof robbers, and when you awake you cannot turn your head. Strange thatno book has yet been written on this very necessary science!

  Our travellers had still a grievous ordeal to go through, and this wasbreakfast. They would gladly have avoided it; but Uncle Abris gravelydeclared, that having fulfilled his part of the obligation--havingroasted the coffee, and boiled the milk--they must not be wasted. Sothey all sat down; and although the coffee was a little burned, andthe milk a little run, and the rolls somewhat stale, no one grumbled;but, finishing as quickly as possible, prepared to depart. Thecarriage then drove up, and Uncle Abraham assisted his guests into it.He now smiled in good earnest. "They are off at last, and will wantnothing more"--it was easy interpreting his smile. Having kissed themall, and wished them a prosperous journey, he thought he had passedall dangers, when Matyi exclaimed: "I quite forgot to drink that glassof brandy which your honour wanted to give me."

  Uncle Abris once more grew pale, and retreating into the parlour, cameout with a glass about as large as a thimble.

  "Is this all for me, sir?" asked Matyi, holding up the little glass insurprise; and having emptied it, he looked round, as if to say, Wasthere anything in it?

  "Will you have half a glass more?" asked Uncle Abris, withextraordinary generosity.

  "Thank you, sir," replied Matyi; "I am afraid of overturning thecarriage. Bless your honour! bless you, Boriska! we shall be backagain in a week."

  It was lucky that the horses now set off, for the party could nolonger contain their laughter. Uncle Abris and Boriska thrust theirheads out of the door, and it was not until the carriage had totallydisappeared from view that they ventured to return into the house.

&nb
sp; Boris never ceased scolding all that day. "Is it for this, indeed, onehas relations--that they may come and lay waste the house, while weare stinting all the year round just to stuff these locusts! The cowsdon't eat so much in a week as they used for their horses; and thatlittle, saucy girl could only make bullets of the good bread, andthrow it about. She will eat it some day though, I'll answer for that,the delicate dear! And then the work they gave folks!" In fine, goodMrs. Boriska summed up her complaints by declaring, that if they everset foot in the house again she should leave it, and let Master Abrisshift for himself; and then, slamming the door in his face, she lefthim to his solitary reflections.

  * * * * *

  Our readers are by this time aware that there is a certain GaborBerkessy who has a marriageable daughter, to obtain whose hand twomarriageable young men are hastening from different parts of thecountry, accompanied by their respective families, as beseemed.

  We entreat our readers' patience to accompany us once more to a thirdcounty, and then we shall all hasten to Uncle Berkessy's together.

  In the capital town of the county of S----, a young widow resided,called Julia Csalvari. It was the general opinion among theill-natured gossips of this town that the fair widow was a greatcoquette. The fact is, that Julia, during the few years of her weddedlife, had been kept very strictly by her husband--an old gentleman,who was miserly, stupid, and jealous in an equal degree; andconsequently, after his death, the restrained feelings of a vivaciousnature burst out the more vehemently. Her husband had left her themistress of a considerable fortune, and thus the handsome young widowfound herself surrounded by admirers, who flattered her vanity withouttouching her heart. She rode, gave soirees, and frequented balls, anddressed in great style; all this was enough to make her be spoken ofin the capital town of S----. Besides, an old gentleman who hadformerly been an assessor, who was a sort of uncle of Julia, and livedwith her as protector and secretary, supplied the good neighbours withconstant theme. Everything that occurred in Julia's house was repeatedby him in the noble and bourgeois casinos of S----; even that shenever wore the same pair of silk stockings more than once, and thatshe was vaccinated every year! In short, the smallest circumstances,from love-quarrels downwards, might be procured fresh-hatched everymorning from Uncle Nanasy, who was thus continually getting intoscrapes--at one time running the risk of being called out by one ofhis niece's reported admirers, while at another some discardedcavalier threatened to thrash him; and more than once he was obligedto remain at home for fear of being shot through the head. And then hehad even more to endure from the fair Julia's caprice than from thedangers without. But all this did not cure the old gentleman: hestill gossiped as much as he could, denied as much as he could, andbore the results with wonderful patience.

  Julia's relations constantly pressed her to marry, and give up thissort of life; but Julia was little disposed to exchange her presentfreedom. And indeed she was so wilful and capricious, that had shepreferred any one person in particular, she was quite capable ofrejecting his suit, and never seeing him again, if her relations urgedher to marry him. Her marriage was thus put off from year to year; assoon as anything serious began to be reported, some quarrel was sureto take place on one side or other, and not unfrequently the wholeaffair would pass over, while those most nearly concerned knew nothingof it.

  About the time when our story commences, Uncle Nanasy entered thekitchen one afternoon to discover what was being cooked, after whichhe announced himself to the _dame de compagnie_, to ascertain in whathumour his fair niece was to be found that day; and having satisfiedhimself on that point, he entered Julia's room, to tell her all thathad been spoken of in the _cafes_ that morning. He found her at hertoilet; her maid was curling her long golden hair, while she reclinedcarelessly in her arm-chair and played with the silken tresses, whichdescended to the floor.

  "Good morning, my sweet pretty little niece!" lisped Uncle Nanasy,tripping over to Julia with galopade steps, and seizing her smallhand, which he covered with kisses from the wrist to the tips of thenails, exclaiming between each one: "Ah, what a dear little hand! howcharming to get a box on the ear from such a soft hand! And how is mysweet little niece to-day? whose head is she going to turn with theselong ringlets _a l'Anglaise_? Ah, you merciless Penelope! do you knowthat a duel took place on your account this very morning? Thehandsome Lajos, that dark-eyed youth, got a cut across his forehead,he, he, he!--he is a lucky man. Let me arrange this ribbon--there's alove, just through these tresses. See, is it not tastefully placed?would not Uncle Nanasy make a capital tirewoman?--he, he, he!"

  Julia did not wish to laugh at all this nonsense; and turning to hermaid, desired her to bring her shoes.

  "No, I shall not allow anybody to bring them but myself!" cried UncleNanasy, holding back the maid, and running to fetch them; then,kissing them a dozen times, he placed them before her, while Juliatook off her small embroidered slippers, and let Uncle Nanasy put onher satin shoes, as little embarrassed by his presence as if he hadbeen her maid. Then rising, she continued her toilette before thePsyche; while Uncle Nanasy stood by, exclaiming, "How angelic! howlovely!" until he almost poked his chin out of joint with admirationand wonder.

  "Nanasy bacsi," said Julia gravely, and still looking at herself inthe mirror, "I am going to intrust you with a very serious affair, andone about which you must not gossip until it has been duly broughtinto execution."

  "Well, my love; am I not the most trustworthy keeper of secrets?"

  Julia frowned. "I am not joking, bacsi; but I tell you seriously, thatif you speak of this affair to anybody before it takes place, I willtear your hair."

  "Nanasy bacsi will be grateful for the favour," said the oldgentleman, pulling off his peruke and holding down his head, which wasas smooth as a water-melon. At this sight, the waiting-damsel burstinto an immoderate fit of laughter; on which her mistress, frowning,ordered her to leave the room.

  Uncle Nanasy tried every means to amuse his niece--put on his wigawry, opened his snuff-box with a variety of grimaces, performingpirouettes and courtesies of the _renaissance_ era; but all invain--Julia would not laugh.

  When they were alone, she shut the doors, seated the old gentleman onthe balzac, and standing before him--"Listen to me now, Nanasy bacsi,"she began; "I am going to be married."

  Nanasy bacsi became all surprise and curiosity.

  "You must go to-day," she continued, "to V----, find out the highsheriff, and get me a dispensation.[8] You need not come back fromthere, but go straight on to Pesth, and order all that is requisitefor a wedding--what that is, you know better than I do; arrangeeverything for this day week at the latest. I want to have it all overby that time."

  [Footnote 8: A dispensation is required when the marriage is notproclaimed three times in the church.]

  "Depend upon me, my angel--in three days all shall be ready, or youwill hear that Nanasy bacsi is no more."

  "You must have my bridal dress made in Pesth, within the shortest timepossible."

  "Depend on me, my darling; I shall employ the most celebratedmilliners, Varga or Sovari--and if I do not bring the most magnificentbridal dress within a week, advertise me in the papers as a stray dog,for which the lucky finder will receive five florins!"

  "Write to my relations at the same time," continued Julia, "and invitethem to the ceremony on this day week; but for this you will have timeenough in Pesth. I have ordered the carriage, and now you have nothingto do but to get into it and drive off."

  "Yes, my dear, I understand; but what am I to say to our relations?"

  "Why, what have we been talking about?--that I am going to bemarried!"

  "Yes, but to whom?"

  "Why, is it necessary to know that too?"

  "Ha, ha, ha, ha! why, that is the _facit_ of the matter."

  "How odd!--well, say Kalman Sos."

  "Kalman Sos--Kalman Sos; I have heard the name once before. How do youspell it--with two _o_'s or two _s_'s?"

  "Wi
th as many as you like!"

  "Who, or what is this fine young man?"

  "A poet!" replied Julia, with a grave sigh.

  "But what else?"

  Julia stared at her uncle, partly in surprise, partly in anger, as ifto say, How simple you old people are! and then, with a disdainfulshrug, she replied, "Fate was generous enough, I think, in bestowingon him a rich mind, without adding a rich position too."

  Nanasy bacsi did not understand this logic, but contented himself bythus filling up the rubric: Whoever he may be, actor, dancing-master,or what else, she will certainly be able to manage him.

  Julia left the old man to think what he pleased, while she preparedwith her own hands all that was necessary for his journey--notforgetting his shaving materials--wrote her commissions in apocket-book, in which she placed a heap of uncounted notes, and,thrusting it into Uncle Nanasy's pocket, she assisted him to put onhis great-coat and fur cloak, drew his travelling-cap over his head,and would not let him breathe until she saw him seated in thecarriage, that he might have no time to betray her secret.

  Nanasy bacsi, however, bursting with the importance of his mission,happened to meet one or two friends as he was passing through thetown, and, thrusting his head out of the carriage, without stopping,he told the first that his niece was going to be married in a week,the second, that he was on his way for a dispensation, and the third,that he was going to Pesth for dresses and confectionary; and, inabout an hour afterwards, the whole town was talking of the secretmarriage, and guessing who the happy bridegroom might be--for Nanasibacsi had not told his name, husbanding his news, like all truegossips, that he might have something new to relate when he came back.

  Meanwhile, Julia returned to her room, with the placid conviction ofhaving arranged all her affairs to satisfaction, and gave orders toher servants not to admit any person except Kalman.

  In a short time the sound of steps echoed along the corridor, andJulia assumed her sweetest smiles; for our readers are no doubt awarethat, under such circumstances, namely, when one is in love, even thesound of a boot-heel may be recognised. In this respect, only theeditors of newspapers have a finer instinct--who, it is said, tell,even from the sound of a step in the street, whether it is the postmanwith subscribers or a poet with his verses. In this case the magnetismwas reversed; Julia expected the poet, not the postman, and she wasnot deceived--

  Kalman Sos opened the door.

  He was a pale, interesting youth--not that his paleness alone made himinteresting, but he entered the room as Hamlet is expected to enterwith the skull, and, walking with pathetic steps towards Julia, heraised the fair lady's hand to his lips, where he held it for a longtime, and would probably have been holding it still, had not Juliawithdrawn it, exclaiming, "Something is the matter, Kalman, that youare so sad to-day?"

  "Sad I am, indeed!" replied the poet.

  "For mercy's sake!" exclaimed Julia, in alarm, "what has taken place?"

  "Nothing, nothing," replied Kalman, but in a tone which left his fairbride to surmise the worst; and then, sinking into an arm-chair, hegazed vacantly before him.

  "Yes, yes, there is something the matter with you," cried the lady,really frightened; "I entreat, I desire you will tell me instantly!"

  The poet rose _a tempo_, and once more taking Julia's hand, he gazedlong and earnestly into her eyes. "Do you believe in presentiments?"he asked at last, in a faltering voice.

  "How! Why?"

  "Have you never known that feeling, something like a waking dream,which overtakes us in our gayest hours, as if some cold hand passedacross the brow, and the smile which had risen on the lip dies away;as if suddenly a magic mirror rose before us, reflecting our owncountenance, but pale and dark, as if warning us not to rejoice?"

  "O stop!" cried Julia, on whom these words made an uncomfortableimpression; "it is not right to speak of such things; let us talkrather of our wedding. Have you heard from your relations yet?"

  Kalman assumed a Byronic look, and, turning up his eyes, "You arehappy, Julia," he replied; "ah! you are still a child, and can rejoiceat everything."

  "Now, what nonsense, Kalman! you know I am at least five years olderthan you are, if not more."

  "Ah, Julia! years alone do not constitute time. You are still a childat eight-and-twenty, while I am an old man at twenty-four. Not he whois furthest from the cradle is the oldest, but he who is nearest thegrave. It is the weight of days, not their number, that bringswrinkles. I have suffered as much as would suffice for a life of fiftyyears!"

  "Poor Kalman!" sighed Julia, laying her fair hand on the poet'sshoulder. Her delicacy prevented her asking what the deuce had causedhim so much suffering; besides, Kalman might have been shocked athearing her give utterance to such an expression.

  "See!" continued Kalman, "at the very moment when I first beheld yourangel face, and my heart began to burn with the thought that I mightpossess you--call you mine for ever--an ice-cold whisper seemed tosay, 'Rejoice not, all is uncertain till the day has come.'"

  "But it is certain now," replied Julia, "for I have sent for thedispensation, and invited my relations; we shall celebrate the weddingthis day week."

  "Ha! this day week! do you not know that will be the thirteenth of themonth!"

  "Indeed, I did not consult the calendar."

  "Ah, Julia! that number has a fearful influence over my fate!"

  "Well, let it be the previous day."

  "Julia, you speak as securely as if you held the hand of fate withinyour own."

  "Well, if you wish it, and I have no objection, should I speakotherwise than of a certainty?"

  Kalman raised his finger, and with it his eyes, so that Julia began tothink he had discovered a spider's web hanging from the ceiling, andwas pointing it out to her. "Fate hangs over us," he exclaimed, "andfate is capricious, Julia; broken hearts and withered hopes areofferings in which she takes delight. Ah, Julia! you are happy if thisfeeling has never breathed across your soul; if within your bosom'sworld there are no magic chords on which the hand of prophecy strikeswildly; it would have banished the roses from your face, as it hasdone from mine."

  Julia was getting tired of all these unpleasant visions and magneticinfluences; and to give the conversation another turn, she seatedherself at the piano, and began to play a gay fantasia.

  Kalman leant his elbow on the back of her chair; his dark countenanceseemed to pierce the future, while his eyes glared, and his hair stooderect--Julia could observe all this in the opposite mirror. Then,again, he folded his arms and drooped his head on his bosom, till, nolonger able to bear the excess of his feelings, he started up, struckhis forehead, and exclaimed, in a state of exultation, "Ah! one suchmoment were sufficient for life; to hear those sweet accents, and,hand in hand, heart to heart, expire together, breathing forth oursouls in one long embrace. Julia, do you not desire to die with me?"

  "Indeed it will be very nice, when we have both of us reached a goodold age; meanwhile let us live a little while together."

  Kalman gazed at Julia with an expression of pity: he felt with painhow far beneath his own must that mind be, which could not comprehendthe fearful ecstasy of two persons dying together, who have nothing atall the matter with them. He rose and paced the room several times,like a wandering spirit who had no other calling than to terrify theliving; then seizing his hat with suicidal determination, he steppedup to Julia, and exclaimed, in heart-rending accents: "Farewell,farewell! Heaven grant that my forebodings be not realized!" And then,tearing himself from her, he rushed out of the room as if indesperation.

  Poor Julia was truly in despair, and fearing she knew not what,despatched her servant after Kalman, to see that he did not harmhimself; and it was not until the man returned, and assured hismistress that he had seen the young gentleman in the casino eatingroast-meat and green garlic, that she could at all compose herself.

  Julia was occupied all that afternoon by visitors; and, much to hersurprise, she received calls from various persons who had not crossedh
er threshold for several years before, who all endeavoured, by hintsand delicate advice, to allude to the secret which she thought wasalready twenty miles off--in fact, the whole town seemed perfectlyaware of her intended marriage.

  She had now no other resource but to shut herself up in her ownapartment, and to see nobody. Reflecting upon Kalman's late visit, shereproached herself for her prosaical remarks, which must have illaccorded with the poet's sublime rhapsodies, and endeavoured to forceon her imagination some of those strange feelings, which she supposedmight resemble the unpleasant sensations caused by a cold in the head,derangement of the stomach--and having worked herself up to a state ofnervous excitement, she sat down to her escritoire, and began a longletter to her bridegroom.

  As she was in the act of revising a composition which she herselfscarcely understood, her maid entered the room with a letter.

  Annoyed at being interrupted, Julia snatched it from her hand, andglancing hurriedly at the address, recognised Kalman's handwriting.

  Seriously alarmed, she held the letter in her hand without daring tobreak the seal, in case she should read: "When these lines meet youreye, the writer will be"--the thought was too horrible! Motioning toher maid to quit the room, she opened the epistle with a tremblinghand: there were four pages closely written.

  "ADORABLE JULIA!--Angel never to be forgotten!--Have you ever seen twostars so close to one another in the blue vault of heaven, that withthe naked eye you might take them to be but one, and which, ever sincetheir creation, have been revolving round one another--when suddenlyan unexpected phenomenon takes place: one of these two stars, impelledby an irresistible power, quits his companion, and rushing forwardthrough the universe, becomes a comet, whose fate is to wander beyondthe worlds, threatening the trembling stars with destruction." . . . .

  Julia's patience was not sufficient to go through four pages ofastronomy, and turning impatiently to the end of the letter, she readas follows:--

  "As my father's wishes in regard to me are iron fetters, which enchainme like Prometheus to the rock; and since he absolutely insists uponmy marrying the daughter of Gabor Berkessy, pronotarius of the countyof Csongrad, there remains no alternative but to die or--to obey. WereI to consider myself alone, it were bliss to choose the former. But Ican think of you alone--the despair, the derangement, probably, myselfishness might cause you; and therefore I live and obey for yoursake, my adorable Julia! for your peace alone; and with tears in myeyes, and anguish in my heart, trace these few lines, each word ofwhich is a dagger in the soul of him who can never forget, and livesalone in your remembrance. KALMAN SOS."

  And these were the fatal forebodings, the mysterious visions! Juliafell from the stars.

  After a moment's brief reflection, however, the fair lady coollyfolded the letter, without deigning it a second perusal, and throwingit into the fire with the one she had just written, she rang the bell;then writing a few hurried lines, she sealed the note and handed it toher maid, saying: "Desire the groom to get a fleet horse instantly,and ride after Nanasy bacsi to the sheriff's: should he find himthere, he may leave the letter and return; if not, he must go on toPesth. My uncle generally lodges at the Golden Eagle; but let him findhim out, and spare no expense."

  * * * * *

  Uncle Gabor Berkessy was a man of about sixty years of age, with hairand beard snow-white; but though old in years, he was as young inspirit and as active in limb as a youth of twenty.

  He was the life and soul of every company, without ever offending byhis jests. His anecdotes were celebrated in the country; and when hebegan to tell a story after dinner, it was impossible for the companyto keep their seats; and finally, when he himself joined in the laugh,it might have been heard at the end of the town; for the thunderingpeal could only be compared to what a lion's might be, if therisibility of that mighty king of beasts could be excited. On morethan one occasion, when he had happened to be present at a comedy, theactors were obliged to stop in the midst of their performance. Firstit began slowly--ha! ha, ha! ha, ha, ha! holding his handkerchief tohis mouth, and pretending to cough; until at last, as if a bomb hadburst within him, the fearful sounds would break forth--ha, ha, ha,ha, ha! tears would roll down his cheeks, he would strike the boardbefore him with his fist, stamp on the ground, and engage theattention of all the spectators; so that at last, whenever an actorheard the first ha! he hurried over whatever was to be said, knowingthat he had no chance afterwards of being listened to at all.

  I have descanted rather at length on Uncle Gabor's laughing faculty,because, according to my theory, if a man can laugh heartily, he mustnot only be a good-hearted, but a well-informed man; and as suchBerkessy was acknowledged in all the district. His countenance was afaithful interpreter of his mind: the jolly round face and laughingeyes, with their silver lashes; the knolly, flexible brows; thehealthy teeth and red lips; and the expression of goodness, impossibleto mistake, impressed on every feature, gave such a charm to hiscountenance, that it was impossible not to feel comfortable in hisvicinity; and even the Christmas Legatus would have taken courage inhis presence.

  Uncle Berkessy was thirty years old when he married; and his wife wasan excellent soul, with whom he lived sixteen years of peaceful life,without however being blessed by children. At last, when leastexpected, the blessing arrived in the form of a little girl.

  The happy pair were now twice as happy as they had been before; thelittle Linka was the joy and light of their eyes, and the hope andglory of both. They lavished upon her all the affection and tendernessof their nature, hastening to gratify her slightest fancies--for everythought seemed concentrated in their only child; and, strangeprovidence! this indulgence not only did not spoil her, but renderedher from day to day more amiable and more loving. The slightest hintfrom her mother's eyes was sufficient to direct her, and she knew nogreater happiness than that of pleasing her parents; all their careand tenderness found a kindly grateful soil within her gentle heart,and was richly repaid. How unlike to most indulged natures, which aregenerally like vinegar--the more sugar you put in, the stronger willthe acid be.

  Lina was scarcely ten years old when she lost her mother--the greatestloss a little girl can experience. All a father's attention can nevermake up for the want of a mother's care; much will remain unobservedby him which could not escape the ever-watchful spirit of a tendermother.

  Although this misfortune did not change Lina, she was more thoughtfulafterwards; but the cares of a household devolving upon her, left herno time to indulge in melancholy. A great safeguard for a young girlare her household cares: they teach her to respect herself, theybanish sadness, keep down the passions and false feeling, and givetrue life to the young mind.

  The little girl was the greatest comfort in her father's bereavement:and as she grew up, her sweetness and amiability, and excellentmanagement, were the surprise and admiration of all the familiesaround; and no less than three suitors, as we have already seen, wereon their way to Uncle Berkessy on matrimonial speculation. Our sweetlittle heroine's exterior, though pleasing in the extreme, was notsuch as is called in the language of poets, beautiful. And here Icannot help observing, that the manner in which these poeticalgentlemen dictate to the world in general is certainly most unfair.According to their ideas, it is only a perfect beauty who dare lay anyclaim to happiness; while all the others, whose faces cannot becompared to lilies and roses, are born only to be deceived, and butfor their wealth would never appear in a romance at all. Real life,however, gives them the lie; for we see family happiness bloom even inhouseholds where the ladies are not painted for annuals. And how manya mild and unpretending being do we find gifted with that delicacy andtrue poetry of mind, which give to features not created for apainter's model an attraction and loveliness that it would beimpossible to describe, for we can scarcely say what it is we find soagreeable; and although we might turn with cold indifference from amere sketch of the features, no sooner do we see
them lighted up by asmile, or hear an accent of sympathy cross the lips, than a sweetfascination rises within us--the eyes, the lips, the wholecountenance, wins new attractions; the soul assumes its power overthe clay, and charms into beauty what in itself is not so.Fortunately, nature seldom bestows on any one the consciousness ofbeing less handsome than her neighbour; for that woman could scarcelybe good-humoured, who, when she looked in the glass, could notdiscover something which rendered her countenance agreeable, and whichothers also will no doubt remark after some observation. These ideasmay, I fear, hurt the classic understanding, and the lovers of artwill be shocked to hear that the not beautiful can also be subjects ofpoetry; but if mankind has so increased upon earth as to mottle theOlympic regularity with many variations, who can help it? The negroand the Laplander have their beauties; and some are even bold enoughto affirm that the mind of itself may render beautiful.

  All these deviations must not weary you, gentle reader, for you knowit is now a question of matrimony, and therefore you must readpatiently and not in vain.

  Day was just dawning; the sound of bells broke the silence of thevillage, and, one by one, the green blinds opened as the sun shed hisfirst rays on the windows of Uncle Berkessy's house. Two windows aloneremained closed--those of the room in which the old gentleman slept;the others were all open, and the rooms filled with the fresh morningair. The valuable old furniture was already dusted, and the polishedfloors were shining like mirrors. In the first room, a great glasschiffonniere stood opposite the windows, ornamented by pillarssupported by gilded angels. Among the china and cut crystal arrangedwithin, was that which Uncle Gabor's grandmother had received as abridal gift, and which she used until she was eighty-two years old,and left in the same admirable order to her children. At the otherside of the room, stood two large beds, on whose heavy curtains astag-hunt was portrayed. Although nobody slept in those two beds,they were turned down every sunny day, and the great feather pillowsplaced within the double windows to air. Opposite the beds stood anantique cabinet, ornamented by various carvings and pillars, of whichit would be difficult to discover all the quaint recesses and thesecret drawers. Between the windows stood an ancestral mirror, withits frame of ornamental cut glass, the centre of which was decoratedby a garland of everlasting flowers, which might have hung there atleast half a century. In one corner stood a large cabinet clock, andin the other a high spinning-wheel, used by grandmamma in ancienttimes; and which was always kept in the same corner from a feeling ofrespect, although nobody ever used it. And, as we are come onmatrimonial speculations, I may inform you, gracious reader, that thelower part of the chiffonniere contains real old silver-plate forforty-eight persons; and that the large cabinet is filled with thefinest table-linen, among which is still preserved that whichgrandmamma had spun with her own hands. And now we shall proceed intothe next room. This had been fitted up with the newest furniture byUncle Gabor as a surprise on one of his daughter's birthdays, and wasfilled with comfortable arm-chairs, spring sofas, and elegantwork-tables. There was a grand pianoforte too, and a glasschiffonniere, in which all her little birthday and holiday gifts werearranged. The rich worsted-work carpet was an example of the younglady's personal industry, for, besides keeping the house in perfectorder, she found time for various other female employments. A prettybookcase was filled with choice books, selected by her father, whileon her little embroidery table lay the Athenaeum and the Regelo,[9]with extracts from the latest Hungarian works.

  [Footnote 9: _Regelo_--title of a literary magazine.]

  Lina's sleeping apartment opened from this room; surprising neatnessand order reigned in every part of the little sanctuary; and thesnow-white curtains of the bed and windows pleasantly contrasted withthe dark, polished floor. The airy windows opened on the garden, fromwhence the large harvest roses peeped in. A pretty brass cage, with acanary bird, hung on the wall; and whenever its mistress appeared, thelittle tenant would sing as if its small heart were going to burst.Beyond this room was an ante-chamber which opened into the oldgentleman's apartment, which we will not disturb, as he is stillasleep.

  In the opposite wing of the building were the guests' chambers, thekitchen, servants' rooms, and store-rooms; and beyond these was apavilion, provided with comfortable seats, in the centre of which afountain played; and here the host was wont to sit and smoke with hisguests, sheltered equally from sun or rain.

  The court-yard was already full of business and activity; the reaperspreparing to set out, the old gray-headed labourer leading his oxenwith their decorated horns to the well; the footman was standing atthe door of the out-house polishing his master's silver-spurred boots,so that he might have shaved in them. A comfortable odour of soupproceeded from the open kitchen-door, and in a few minutes, our littlelady herself stepped across the corridor, and appeared in the court todistribute bread and brandy to the reapers. Her cheeks were flushed,for she had just come from the fire, and a neat white handkerchief wasarranged round her head. For the young girls, who were as yet innocentof the virtues of brandy, she had prepared a good warm soup, that theymight not go hungry to their work. It was not with any idea ofparsimony, but rather to see that each person had sufficient, that shecame out herself; and she was never contented till every person hadpartaken of her gifts. Having wished their young mistress a hearty_Aldja Isten_ (God bless you), the reapers then set out in thegreatest good humour, the young lads and lasses singing and jesting,and the elders walking soberly together.

  Lina still lingered a few minutes to enjoy the fresh air, and listento the tinkling bells of the oxen as they disappeared, and then shecalled her flock of poultry, which had collected round the millstonewhere the labourers had breakfasted, and distributed their portionsalso; after which, she returned to the kitchen to superintend theroasting of the coffee for her father's breakfast; for when she leftit to the servants, they were sure either to roast it unmercifully, orburn it, or do something else which gave it an unpleasant taste.Covered fireplaces were not yet known in those days--everything wascooked on the flames or hot embers, and consequently the propermanagement of the fire was then a source of much greater trouble tocooks, who had to guard against smoking, burning, or singeing theirdishes; and cooking was at that period a far more difficult businessthan in these more enlightened times.

  Meanwhile, the footman had covered the table, and the old gentleman,being awakened by the rattling of cups and spoons, soon made hisappearance in complete attire, with his polished silver-spurred boots,and his fur dolmany thrown across his shoulders; his thick gray hairwas uncovered, and a pipe, quite full, in his mouth. The footmanwished him "a happy good morning," while three huge greyhounds sprangfrom under the table to meet him. Having patted and caressed them all,Uncle Gabor walked into the kitchen to light his pipe, well knowingthat he should find his daughter there. Linka's hands were full, and,as her father entered, she exclaimed, in the sweetest voiceimaginable, "Good morning, dearest father; just hold out your handhere one instant, dear papa."

  "For what?" exclaimed the old gentleman, holding out his hand at thesame time.

  It was just that Lina might stoop down and kiss it, for both her handswere occupied.

  The old gentleman patted his daughter's face, and then, taking abride's eye (a bright-burning ember) between his fingers from thefire, he lit his pipe and stood watching Lina's operations. Whenbreakfast was ready, Lina prepared her father's coffee; she knewexactly how black and how sweet to make it, and the old gentleman wasso spoilt in this respect, that he could never drink coffee except athome.

  We have now seen the little lady at her various occupations, but wehave still to see her when she scolds, for this is infalliblyrequisite in good housekeeping, and to overlook faults is in itselfthe greatest fault; but the question is, how to scold that yourservants may neither fear nor laugh at you; and Lina could scold bothgracefully and agreeably--indeed the manner in which it was done wasgenerally the means of establishing good humour.

  While she was sipping her coffee, out of a cup
not much larger than anut-shell, all at once she heard a noise of barking and running in thekitchen, as if some person was hunting her little greyhound.

  She immediately jumped up, and ran into the kitchen. "Who is teasingmy little dog?" she asked, in a voice of dove-like anger.

  The servants all laughed, and the footman, trying to compose hisfeatures, replied, "It was Feeske, who was leaping up on thefireplace."

  "Well, and must you strike the poor dog for that!--he feels it just asmuch as you would."

  "Nobody beat him, Miss; only he put his head into the milk-ewer, andcould not get it out again."

  "Yes, because you are all so disorderly.--Come here, little Feeske!You should not have left the milk-ewer on the fireplace--come here, mypoor little dog; did these bad people hurt you?"

  She was obliged to break the ewer to free the little dog's head.

  "Sure it's the pretty ewer that's to be pitied," said one of theservants, laughing.

  "Well, I would not let the dog suffer for the sake of a ewer;" andthen she returned to her father with a beaming countenance. "Have Inot scolded them all well!"

  Towards the end of breakfast, the footman entered with the letters andnewspapers, which the messenger brought weekly from town.

  Uncle Gabor opened the Jelenkor newspaper, and followed Espartero andZummalacarreguy with great attention, while Linka glanced over thepeaceful columns of the Regelo--for it was only in the evening thatshe had time to read it through. As she opened the last page, her eyesfell on a sonnet, entitled, "To Lina B----ssy." She started as if shehad looked into a book of incantations, and closed the paper sosuddenly, that the old gentleman, who was just standing before thecannons of a naval engagement, cried out, "What's the matter, mychild?"

  "Nothing at all, papa," replied Linka, changing colour, "only thepaper nearly fell out of my hand."

  So far was true. Uncle Gabor hastened back to the engagement, lestanything should have taken place in the mean time.

  Lina folded the paper quite small, and thrust it into the pocket ofher apron; then, taking up her watering-pot, she glided noiselesslyout of the room, and ran into the garden. She was determined not toread the paper. She would either burn it, or put it away where nobodyshould find it. With this firm intention, she began to water hercarnations and violets, all the time turning in her mind where shecould most conveniently hide the sonnet--for, after all, it would bevery hard-hearted to burn it.

  At last she remembered the glass-house, and hastened thither with theintention of putting the paper under one of the great cactus pots. Shelooked round on entering, to see that she was quite alone. Lonelinessis the godmother of every weakness, and when she took the paper out ofher pocket she could not withstand the temptation of looking once moreinto it--nobody would see if she blushed--and, with trembling hands,as if she were committing something very scandalous, she unfolded thepaper, and read with a beating heart the lines addressed to her.

  The verses were of that kind which our young literature produced abouttwenty years ago--for we have always had a _young_ literature, whichnever attained maturity--whose constrained inspirations, insipidtaste, and high-sounding problems, had at least this one advantage,that, possessing no feeling at all, they were incapable of excitingany. Lina, blushing deeply, was forced to recognise herself in "therosebud whose perfume is intoxicating bliss;" as "Heaven's loveliestangel, the night of whose glossy ringlets might form a pall beneathwhich it were ecstasy to expire, while the sunny radiance of her darkeyes would wake to life again." The sonnet was signed, "Kalman S--s."

  Lina knew the youth. She had frequently met him in Sz----, at thecounty meetings, and having read the lines, she did not think them sovery dreadful after all, except of course in a poetical point ofview.

  As she was still holding the open paper in her hand, a voice calledfrom the garden door, "Miss Lina!"

  Starting up, she once more thrust the paper into the pocket of herapron, and, turning very pale, ran to the door.

  "Guests have arrived, Miss Lina! make haste home," said the servant,who had been sent for her.

  * * * * *

  An ancestral conveyance, with three unhappy horses, was standing atthe door!

  Our readers will guess to whom it belonged.

  Lina took the handkerchief from her head, smoothed her hair with herhands, and hastened into the room, where numerous voices were to beheard all talking together with exclamations of joy.

  It was just themselves, dear reader; the good-natured countrygentleman, the dictatorial lady, our nephew Sandor, and his amiablelittle brother, Peterke.

  They had passed the night in the neighbouring village, for a varietyof excellent reasons; of which the principal were, first, that thehorses might rest, so as to be able to gallop into Uncle Gabor's courtnext morning; and, secondly, that the family might equip _en gala_ forthe occasion.

  The worthy dame wore a large cap decorated with rainbow-colouredribbons, the border of which encompassed her face, like the portraitof the sun in an almanac. Her dress, of bright-green silk, was shortenough to show the embroidered petticoat beneath; a large bronzebuckle secured her waist-band almost under her arms, and the _toutensemble_ was relieved by a silver-coloured shawl with crimsonflowers, thrown negligently over her shoulders.

  Uncle Menyhert was shaved, and his hair brushed up smartly; hisshirt-collar would fain have stood upright, but not having quiteenough of starch for that, was obliged to be satisfied with the goodintention; his waistcoat had been white piquet, but was now somewhatyellow. A huge watch betrayed itself in his side-pocket, partly by itssize, partly by its ticking, which seemed to take part in everyconversation, and was worn round his neck by a thick silk cordresembling a sword-belt. Instead of the green attila, he now wore achocolate-coloured coat, whose long narrow tails nearly reached theground, and his light Hungarian hose were exchanged for pantaloons ofyellow angine, very wide above and narrow below. All this was crownedby a long cylinder hat, which was now placed on the table foruniversal admiration.

  Our nephew Sandor wore his Juratus attila, with a vest ofcherry-coloured velvet. It was clear he felt himself a different manin the attila to what he had been in his bonjour. The lattercompletely cast him down, humiliated, and put him to shame; the attilainspired him with confidence and courage.

  He now neither stood behind the stove nor kissed the footman's hand;in short, he had become quite superior to himself, and jested witheverybody. This is characteristic of his age: when a youth of thattime of life has an inferior coat, he will be sure to get out of yourway, to avoid saluting you; whereas if he happens to be satisfied withhis appearance, he will cross you on every occasion, and expect you tosalute him.

  Even the cadet had undergone a change. He had been washed and combed,and boxed into submission. Indeed, at the last station he hadundergone a severe chastisement, to prevent any misbehaviour at UncleBerkessy's; and having cried the whole way thither, he was nowtolerably quiet and subdued.

  As Lina entered, Aunt Zsuzsi rose, and, running across the room, threwher arms round her neck, to the utter derangement of cap and frill,and, with a face beaming with triumph, she led forward the blushinggirl, and introduced her to the other members of her family. "Well,you rascal!" she exclaimed, turning to Sandor with motherly pride,"have we not chosen a fine girl for you, eh? You do not deserve her, Ican tell you!"

  Our nephew looked at Lina with a rueful smile, as if he had expectedsomething far prettier; but it may have been the extreme tightness ofhis boots which made it an unpleasant gymnastic exercise to rise fromhis seat.

  This cordial introduction at first surprised Linka, and, with a modestblush, she took refuge beside her father, as if soliciting hisprotection against such an unexpected attack. The old gentleman,observing her embarrassment, put his arm playfully round her. "No! youshall not carry off my little Linka so easily, my dear niece!" heexclaimed.

  "Ah, but we shall indeed," replied Aunt Zsuzsi, "or else we shallleave Sandor with you."
r />   "That's right! with all my heart, I shall be delighted if you willleave both the boys with me. They shall be my sons."

  At these words, little Peterke, in great alarm, stationed himselfbetween his father's knees, and began crying out, "I will not be thatbacsi's son--take me home, I will stay with tate (daddy)."

  Uncle Gabor burst into one of his fearful laughs, while papa lifted upthe little urchin, and placed him beside his mother. "Hang on there,my brave boy."

  "Never mind," said Aunt Zsuzsi, "when we take him to be married, Idaresay he will not cry at being left with a pretty girl. If my unclehad but one little girl more for him!"

  "Hush, wife!" interrupted Menyhert, feeling himself called upon to saysomething wise; "don't you see who you are speaking before? Here is ayoung innocent girl, who blushes at the very name of marriage; wemust not mention these things before the girls, till it comes to theirturn. I must say, I think it is a most excellent custom of the Turksnot allowing the bride to see her bridegroom"--

  But at that instant Menyhert, happening to glance towards his wife'snose, perceived in its evolutions such marked symptoms of displeasure,that he began to stammer, forgot what he had been saying, and finallybroke down entirely.

  "Shall we go and look at the stud?" said Uncle Gabor.

  "With all my heart," replied Menyhert, glad to change the subject, andspeculating on the handsome curricle and four which Uncle Gabor wouldgive his daughter on her marriage.

  "Meanwhile, I shall go and take a look at the garden," said AuntZsuzsi.

  "And gather pretty flowers," exclaimed Peterke, springing up.

  "No, no, you little fool," said dear mamma, "you must not touch theflowers; but you may catch as many butterflies and beetles as youlike."

  Sandor seemed undecided whether he should go and look at the horses,or undertake to gather butterflies and beetles too; and Lina waited tosee what her father would say, when the prudential Aunt Zsuzsiinterposed: "We will leave the young people together; let them amusethemselves speaking, and get acquainted: such innocent intercourseshould never be hindered. Come away, fathers."

  It was useless to oppose Aunt Zsuzsi's plans, and so the parentalsociety went out together, leaving the young people to get acquainted;and the latter, seeing there was nothing else to be done, resignedthemselves to the innocent intercourse.

  Linka, having recovered her presence of mind, sat quietly down to herembroidery-table in the window; while Sandor drew himself up, andbegan admiring a large oil-painting of a pretty shepherdess on thewall opposite, the frame of which seemed to attract his particularnotice.

  "You are thinking," said Lina, to begin the conversation, "that thatportrait is very like me, are you not?"

  "Like you?" said Sandor; "ohoho! what an idea!"

  "It has much more colour than I have."

  "Oh! much more."

  "And is much taller than I am."

  "Oh! much taller."

  Linka began to think that she had at last met some person who wasperfectly sincere. "I do not know," she continued, "why that paintershould have made me prettier than I am."

  Sandor perceived that he had been giving very stupid answers, andhastened to repair his fault. "That is to say, Miss Lina, the portraitis not prettier than you are; on the contrary, it is uglier, for oneside of the face is larger than the other."

  Lina, perceiving that the young gentleman did not understand paintingor perspective, tried another theme.

  "You have lived in Pesth, and are no doubt acquainted with some of thepoets there?"

  "O yes; indeed, there were several students among us who were terriblespendthrifts,[10] but I never spent much myself; six florins a monthwere sufficient for me."

  [Footnote 10: "Spendthrift," In Hungarian _kolto_, means also "apoet," as the verb _kolteni_ signifies "to poetise," or "to expend."]

  Linka laughed heartily at what she supposed to be a pun of Sandor's."Oh! I did not mean that kind of _kolto_," she exclaimed, "but versewriters."

  "Ah, indeed!" replied Sandor, looking vacantly out of the window; "Idid not see any such in Pesth."

  "But you have read their works? for instance, Vorosmarty."

  "O yes, certainly; that was what Kisfaludy wrote, was it not?"

  "Ah no! Vorosmarty himself was the author."

  "Aha! I know now: it was he who wrote Kisfaludy."

  "How you are quizzing me! You cannot make me believe that you do notknow the Magyar poets."

  "Umph! singular! Well, if I do not know one, I know another; I am veryfond of poetry, and I can repeat some verses by heart."

  "Pretty ones? Perhaps you will write a few in my album; who are theyby?"

  "Well, the prettiest are by Vad Janos."

  "Vad Janos! and who is Vad Janos?"

  "Ah, now! you see you do not know him, although he was poeticalpraeceptora."

  "And has he published many works?"

  "Why, I believe so. That beautiful poem called 'Spring;' then his 'Odeto a Sausage'--that's a capital thing; and then the 'Maize King'scomplaint against the Trailing Bean'--ah, that is superb!"

  "And where are they all published?" asked Linka humbly.

  "Why, in the _Hippocrene_," replied Sandor confidently.

  "And what is that?" asked Lina again, with pious awe.

  "It is the name of a newspaper."

  "I have never heard of it," sighed the poor girl. "And where does itappear?"

  "Why, in Koros."

  "And who is the editor?"

  "The students write it themselves,[11] whoever has the best hand; andthen we take it about to all the pretty girls to read--that is, Inever brought it to anybody," said Sandor, hastening to justifyhimself, lest he might be suspected of visiting pretty girls.

  [Footnote 11: This is really done in the smaller towns.]

  How many are there who never learn anything after they leave school,and grow old with the same ideas they brought from their classes! Ihad a schoolfellow about fourteen years ago, who could tell a pleasantanecdote pretty well. I met him again this year; we had only exchangeda few words, when he began the old anecdote.

  While the two old gentlemen were looking at the stud, Aunt Zsuzsi hadstepped into the garden--not exactly to look at the flowers, but tofind out what sort of things Lina kept for the kitchen use; whilePeterke ran up and down the beds, looking for butterflies and beetles.In the midst of his career, he happened to upset one of the bee-hives;and the bees consequently stung him so furiously, that his whole facewas swelled like a bladder, and the eyes almost entirely disappeared.On hearing his cries, mamma ran up, and taking him by the hand, ledhim into the house. On any other occasion, he would have been severelypunished, besides having been stung; but here everybody endeavoured tobe sweet-tempered, as if the whole family were made of milk andbutter.

  This misfortune put an end to the innocent intercourse, and Linka ranaway to get something for the dear boy's face. Each person proposed adifferent remedy--cold and hot applications, oil, brandy, &c. &c. Invain; the swelling still continued, and there was nothing for it butto go to bed.

  Linka then went to superintend her kitchen duties, glad to have a fewminutes to herself. She had not been long away, however, when soundsof wheels were heard again driving up to the door; but Linka paid noattention to the noise--she was too much occupied with the arrangementof her dishes. This did not prevent the inquisitive servants fromrunning to the window to see who had arrived.

  "Oh, Miss Lina," cried one, "what a beautiful caleche! and such asmart coachman!--not like that Matyi. See what beautiful linensleeves!"[12]

  [Footnote 12: In summer, the coachman's dress is a coloured vest overa white linen garment with wide sleeves embroidered round the neck andshoulders; also wide linen drawers with fringes, and a broad hatdecorated with feathers.]

  "Oh, Miss Linka!" cried another, "see what a handsome young cavalierhas just got down off the box! and now he is helping out a fine ladyand a little rosy girl. That is a youth for a bridegroom, Miss Lina."

  But
Miss Lina was very angry. "What are you all chattering about?" sheexclaimed; "you had far better attend to your dishes."

  They had scarcely turned from the window, when another sound excitedtheir curiosity. The galloping of a horse was heard in the court; andpresently afterwards, a voice, talking in an affected tone through thenose, addressed the old gentleman, who had come to the door to receivehis guests.

  "Permit me to introduce myself as Kalman Sos," said the horseman,"come to pay my respects"--

  As Linka heard these words, she threw the egg-shells into the dishinstead of the yolk, and snatching the Regelo from her pocket, withoutfurther reflection, she threw it into the fire.

  "What have you done, Miss Linka?" exclaimed the portly cook; "all yourburnt paper has got into my dishes."

  And to put the _comble_ to her distress, the old gentleman entered,his face beaming with pleasure, and, going maliciously up to hisdaughter, he looked in her face, and smiled knowingly without saying aword, while the poor girl only wished that the floor might open bysome miracle and permit her to sink into the cellar.

  "Do you want anything, dearest papa?" she ventured at last to ask.

  "I do not want you to stay in the kitchen!"

  "And why not, dear father?"

  "Because you will be sure to salt everything to-day."[13]

  [Footnote 13: Sos, salt salted.]

  Poor Linka! if she could have blushed still more deeply she would havedone so, for she understood her father's meaning too well; and,moreover, the cook increased her embarrassment, by adding, "Indeed,sir, you will do well to carry off the young lady, for she is not atall like herself, poor thing! and giving us much unnecessary trouble;only a few minutes ago, she put the egg-shells into the puddinginstead of the yolk; and then she burnt"--

  Lina tried to silence the cook, who, however, only talked thelouder--so she was compelled at last to yield; and, taking herfather's arm, she made up her mind with a sigh to the great sacrificeof leaving the kitchen and going to her guests. And what a place ofrefuge the poor girl had often found there on such occasions!

  Meanwhile the guests were assembled in the sitting-room. On one sideof the sofa sat Aunt Zsuzsi, endeavouring with great vehemence, andfrequent application of her finger to the side of her nose, to explainsomething in an under tone to a mild lady, in whom we recognise Mrs.Tallyai, who was sitting beside her listening patiently to her tales.

  Our nephew Sandor sat at the table, evidently a good deal put out byseeing so many strangers; although it never crossed his imaginationthat he had two rivals among them.

  His father sat beside him, administering wise counsel about variousmatters, such as how to behave when he was addressed, how to sit attable and use his knife and fork, not to put his nail into thesalt-cellar instead of the point of his knife, or to wipe his mouthwith the table-cloth, or drink the water out of the finger-glass. Withthese and such-like salutary precepts did good Mr. Menyhert Gulyasiendeavour to enlighten his son, till the poor youth lost all thelittle courage with which his attila had inspired him.

  Opposite Sandor sat Karely Tallyai--a handsome, manly youth, in whosegay countenance and easy manners no holiday restraint was to be seen.He was carrying on a jesting conversation with his sister, the littlemischievous Siza, whose roguish eyes were ever and anon glancing atthe opposite side of the table, while she constantly discoveredsomething to arrange in her brother's neckerchief or ruffles, or anatom of down to pick off his coat, all of which she did with an air ofmysterious prudery, as if "nobody but ourselves" was to remark it.

  Last, though not least in his own opinion, stood Kalman the poet,apart from the rest, with his arms folded and his back against anarm-chair, his countenance vainly endeavouring to express unutterablesadness. Such expressions have great effect on young girls--the pale,moonlight face; the secret sigh; the sad smile when others laughheartily; the retirement to a corner where he can be seen byeverybody, when others are amusing and enjoying themselves; the gentlecough now and then--and if asked why, the laying of the hand withpensive calmness on the breast, the speaking of approaching autumn, offalling leaves, and of sweet sleep among those leaves; remarking thatthe sound of coughing is like knocking at the gate of another world,and such-like poetic similes. All this is certain of success ifdirected skilfully against a young and inexperienced heart.

  Thus the three rival parties were arranged to begin the attack. Thefamily of Gulyasi were no doubt the strongest; they claimed the oldgentleman's earlier friendship and former promise, besides which, hisown speculations too allotted them the first place.

  Kalman considered himself quite dangerous enough to enter the lists insingle combat, and without a second, having already opened the attackby pouring forth his secret vows in verse; while the least favourableplace fell certainly to Karely. With an honourable heart, and lipsthat despised flattery, he had also the misfortune to possess asimple-hearted mother, who, instead of clothing her son in everyvirtue, even exposed his faults, declaring that he was a sad, wildyouth, who spent a great deal of money, besides various othermisdemeanours which she spoke of in the sincerity of her heart, sothat poor Karely might have hung the basket on his arm[14] beforehand,as there was every chance of his receiving it.

  [Footnote 14: It was an old custom to present a basket as a mark ofrefusal to the rejected suitor.]

  * * * * *

  Uncle Gabor entered the room with Lina on his arm, and led her up toMrs. Tallyai. The young girl kissed her hand, and gracefully salutedthe rest of the party. Then the two ladies placed her between them onthe sofa, and it was really amusing to see how Aunt Zsuzsi contrivedto occupy her whole attention, overwhelming her with praises,flattery, and ill-timed questions, while Mrs. Tallyai had not anopportunity of putting in a single word.

  "What a pretty, dear girl! quite a child still, and yet such a goodhousewife. I saw your garden, quite an example--such cauliflowers! youmust know they are my favourite vegetable. I have looked at yourpreserves, and they do the greatest credit to these pretty littlewhite hands; but I must teach you by and bye to make medlar and grapejelly--when we are at Makkifalva, you know. You never tasted anythingbetter--Sandor is so fond of it! indeed he is fond of all sweets,quite his father's son; but he had not hitherto seen the sweetest ofall sweets!--Come, you must not blush so, you naughty girl, though Imust confess it is most becoming."

  The poor girl was actually sitting on thorns during the whole of thisconversation, till, fortunately, Sizike interrupted it by running overand throwing her arms round her neck, which gave Lina an opportunityof withdrawing with her young companion into an adjoining room.

  The two girls did not return till they were summoned to dinner, andthen they were already _per tu_. Friendship is very quickly formedbetween girls, and, notwithstanding the difference of age--for Sizawas yet a child--a "holy alliance" had been concluded in a fewminutes, and it was evident that Lina looked more favourably on Karelythan on Sandor, although Kalman still remained the most dangerous inher regard, and she never ventured to look except by stealth at thehero of the lines, conscious that his eyes were always fixed upon her.

  At dinner, the two matrons sat at the head of the table, and UncleGabor at the foot, with the two girls at each side of him; Karely satbeside Linka, and Sandor opposite him, beside Siza. The poet satbeside Aunt Zsuzsi, and Menyhert beside Mrs. Tallyai. Soup was served,and the spoon being an innocent weapon, nothing particular took placeduring its requisition, except that Sandor, observing Kalman hold hisspoon between his first finger and thumb, tried to imitate him, and atthe first experiment emptied the soup over his coat. Afterwards, whenthe knives and forks came into requisition, and the first glass ofwine began to inspire courage, Menyhert related his own heroic deedsof 1809--a period which Berkessy, on the other hand, did not exactlywish to recall. Kalman began eating with his left hand, and Sandor,desirous of following his example, pitched the meat off his fork intohis neighbour's lap. Aunt Zsuzsi then talked of the want of principlein the young men of
the capital, on which Kalman asked her if she hadseen _Janesi Parlagi_;[15] and then again incurred her wrath bypouring out a glass of water backwards, on which the good ladydeclared that the next time he did so, she would not drink it.

  [Footnote 15: _Janesi Parlagi_, a popular play. The question was askedin derision of the "country bumpkin."]

  Sandor having been desired by his mother not to refuse anything, lestit might offend the young lady of the house, ate and drank ofeverything that came in his way. The good Eger wine seemed only torenew his vigour in attacking the dishes, inspiring him at the sametime with as much confidence as if he were sitting among his Juratuscolleagues, opposite the golden flask. He laughed and jested, stumbledinto everybody's conversation, played on the bottles and glasses, andthrew about balls of bread. At last, in the height of his merriment,he stretched his limbs under the table, and, having reached a littlefoot opposite, which he took for Lina's, began to press it gently withhis own. The foot happened, however, to be Karely's, who, being deeplyengaged in conversation with his neighbour, allowed this tender_quiproquo_ to go on unnoticed.

  Towards the end of dinner, when hearts and mouths were ever openingwider, that amiable confusion began in which everybody speaks at once,and nobody can hear himself, though he understands his neighbour. Asone anecdote gave rise to another, the company laughed till the tearsran down their cheeks; and the ladies entreated the gentlemen not tomake them laugh more, as they were already quite fatigued; while theyoung people laughed too, pretending to join in the joke, although itwas something quite different they were laughing about. Reader, wouldyou understand their mirth? You must be young, and in love.

  Kalman the poet alone maintained a Parnassus repose of feature. Hiscountenance was never discomposed by a smile, while his eyes wereconstantly fixed on the young lady of the house, or straight beforehim--not on Uncle Menyhert, but beyond him on the opposite wall, onwhich a large mirror was suspended. This mirror seemed to divide hisattention with Lina; and to judge by his countenance, he was perfectlysatisfied with the appearance reflected within--watching every motionof his hands as he ate his dinner, or picked his teeth.

  Nobody seemed to observe him excepting little Sizike, whosemischievous eyes nothing escaped. Her _naive_ ideas kept the oldgentleman in constant mirth; and once or twice he was very nearlybreaking out into one of his terrible explosions, when, pointing toSandor, who was stretching his foot under the table, she whispered:"See, bacsi, the student is disappearing!" in allusion to one of hisown stories of a student who disappeared under the table.

  The general gaiety had reached its climax, when Kalman rose from hisseat, and, drawing his fingers through his hair, filled his glass, andcoughed slightly, to signify to the company that he was about tospeak.

  The noise ceased; each person hushed his neighbour, and endeavoured toassume a befitting length of countenance. The poet gazed around himfor a few moments, and then, raising his glass, began:--

  "There is a sea, beneath which a lovely pearl lies concealed." . . .

  "See, bacsi," whispered Sizike in Uncle Gabor's ear, "how Kalman looksat himself in the glass!"

  Uncle Gabor glanced at the poet, whose eyes were fixed intently onthe mirror with the most extraordinary self-complacency, totallyunconscious of the mirth he excited.

  "This pearl," he continued, with great pathos, "is dearer thanCleopatra's far-famed pearl, purer than those in the Brazilianemperor's diadem! To win this gem, it were small sacrifice to descendinto the depths of the ocean: to die for it were bliss!" . . . .

  "See, bacsi, how he offers himself the glass in the mirror," whisperedSizike again.

  Uncle Gabor seemed ready to burst, like an over-heated steam-boiler.His vast chest rose and fell, his face grew purple, he clenched hisfists.

  Karely, meanwhile, observing that Sandor was pressing his foot veryaffectionately, and not wishing to leave the kindly intentionunresponded to, felt for Sandor's corn, and trod upon it with all hisstrength.

  "Yai!" roared Sandor in the midst of the pearly simile, giving thebottle before him such a push, that the red wine flowed to theopposite end of the table.

  This was all that was wanting for Uncle Gabor. The restrained laughternow broke out in all its fury; he threw himself back in his chair, andstruck the table till all the bottles danced. The young people laughedtoo; and the ladies were so startled at the wine which was runningtowards them, that they retreated from the table. Kalman alonemaintained a profound gravity, waiting with dignified mien till thenoise had subsided, to continue his speech; but in vain. Three timeshe made an attempt to recommence; but no sooner did Uncle Gabor lookat him, or hear his voice, than the explosion was renewed, which hewas utterly incapable of restraining.

  Kalman was obliged to sit down at last without finishing his speech.The old gentleman was evidently annoyed, but it could not be helped;if Kalman had spoken from the pulpit, he could not have kept hisgravity. To relieve the general embarrassment, Karely took up a glassand added gaily:

  "May the pretty pearl of which our friend Kalman speaks long be anornament amongst us, more especially as it does not grow on a coldshell, but adorns the bosom of a true-hearted son of Hungary, who,instead of salt sea-water, offers all explorers plenty of good Turkishblood!"[16]

  [Footnote 16: The Eger wine is so called, from the many battles foughtthere.]

  "Eljen! eljen!" cried the whole party: even Uncle Gabor heartilyclapped his hands in approval. Kalman alone could not forgive Karely,for having followed up the effusion of his brilliant genius with suchcommonplace wit. But it is vain attempting to say wise things afterdinner, and still more vain to expect people to listen to them.

  As soon as the company rose from table, Uncle Berkessy invited hisguests to drive out in his grounds with him; and all having readilyaccepted, orders were given to the coachmen from each party.

  Menyhert went into the stables, to consult with Matyi as to thepossibility of his horses undertaking the drive; and the result beingunfavourable, it was agreed, on the promise of a pint of wine Matyishould receive on their return, that the latter was to pretend to beunfit to drive.

  Meanwhile the other carriages had driven out, and the ladies werepreparing to step in. Kalman brought forward his steed, with its tailcropped _a l'Anglaise_, and all were ready, when Menyhert appearedcoming out of the stables in great wrath.

  "What the tartar are we to do? my coachman is so drunk that it isimpossible he can drive us. I am shocked to think that this shouldhave taken place here, but I shall turn him off as soon as ever we gohome."

  "Don't annoy yourself, my good friend," exclaimed Berkessy, "there'splenty of room, and we can arrange so as to take you all in. Your ladywill sit beside Mrs. Tallyai; Karely likes driving at all events, andthe girls will not object to having a cavalier with them."

  Kalman had just got one foot in the stirrup, when hearing that therewas a place in the carriage beside Lina, he turned suddenly to Sandor,who was standing beside him admiring the horse, and asked, withamiable condescension, if he liked riding.

  "That I do," replied Sandor grinning; "but I have no horse."

  "Would you like to ride mine?"

  "Really! may I indeed?"

  "Most welcome; my back is already tired with riding all the morning,and I can get a place beside one of the coachmen."

  It was not necessary to repeat the offer; Sandor put one foot into thestirrup, and, after dancing about a considerable time on the point ofthe other, succeeded in placing himself in the saddle. The rest of theparty had arranged themselves according to Uncle Gabor's directions,and Kalman was fortunate enough to obtain a place in Berkessy'scarriage opposite the two girls.

  It was only now the company perceived that Sandor had mounted Kalman'shorse, on which he made rather a remarkable appearance--his legs beingvery long, and the stirrups drawn up very short, consequently obliginghis knees almost to meet round the horse's neck.

  Unfortunately, this horse had the bad habit of rearing whenever hefelt a stranger on his back;
and he now began by throwing up his headwith a strange, drawn-out neigh, backing by degrees, and finallyrearing.

  Aunt Zsuzsi now started from her seat. "Sandor!" she cried, "you fool!get off that horse directly; you will break your neck."

  It would appear unnecessary telling a man to get off a horse whoseintention it is to give his rider all possible assistance indismounting. But Sandor neither heard nor saw; and if we apply theterm of "all ear" to an attentive listener, we may perhaps affirm ofSandor that he was "all horse."

  The steed, finding that Sandor did not fall off as he intended,neighed once more, and pricking up his ears, made a start for thegate, and then set off full gallop across the garden and over themeadow, bearing his unhappy rider with him, who in despair let go thebridle, and with both hands held fast by the saddle before and behind.

  "My son, my son! he will be killed!" shrieked Aunt Zsuzsi, wringingher hands; "will nobody save him?"

  "Oh, never fear," said her worthy husband; "he is safe enough, dependupon it, and a throw or two won't break his neck. Did you not see thathe spurred the horse purposely? Let us go on, he will soon overtakeus."

  Whereupon the whips cracked, and the carriages proceeded at a quickpace along the road; Aunt Zsuzsi calling to every person she met, toask if they had seen her son--nobody hearing her, of course, owing tothe noise of the carriages.

  Having arrived at Uncle Berkessy's farm, where the harvest was goingon, they turned into a beautiful avenue planted on each side withtrees; here and there the wheat and barley were in stacks, the maizewas still ripening luxuriously, and the golden melon and citronilpeeping out among the stubble. But neither corn nor melons had anycharms for Aunt Zsuzsi--she could only think of her lost son; tillMrs. Tallyai having suggested the probability of Sandor's havingreturned home, the good lady became tolerably calm, and was able toestimate the value of each plot of melons, and bushel of corn.

  Having amused themselves some time watching the reapers, the partydrove home again. Aunt Zsuzsi's first word was to inquire for Sandor;but nobody knew anything about him.

  The good lady then gave vent to her lamentations. "I am undone!" sheexclaimed, "my son Sandor is lost for ever! One has been nearly stungto death by bees, and now the other is killed by a mad horse. Oh! whydid we ever come here at all?--But it is all your fault, you oldfool," she continued, turning to her husband; "why did you want tomarry your son so young? Now he is gone for ever, and you may go afterhim yourself, with your ass of a coachman. And you, sir," she added,turning her wrath on Kalman, "how dared you let him mount yourconfounded horse? where is he now, I ask you?--where is my sonSandor?"

  "And where is my horse?" exclaimed the poet, not less alarmed at theidea of Sandor's having carried off his horse, than the good lady atthe horse's having carried off her son Sandor.

  "Oh, heavens! how am I to go home without my son?" said Aunt Zsuzsi,bursting into tears.

  "And how the tartar am I to get home without my horse?" said thesentimental poet, forgetting himself.

  Not content with blaming her husband and Kalman, Aunt Zsuzsi includedthe whole family in her wrath: the girls because they had not takenSandor with them, and Uncle Berkessy for having allowed him to drinkso much wine, as otherwise he never would have dared to mount thehorse; and finally, she broke out in invectives against the wholeparty for standing with their mouths open, instead of running to lookfor her lost son.

  At last Menyhert's patience was exhausted: "What are you yammeringabout?" he exclaimed; "nobody made this fuss about me when I went tothe elections at Raab, when several gentleman were shot there! Neverfear! bad money is not so easily lost; depend upon it, he will comeback again. They don't steal people in this country, and they won'tbegin with Sandor; and if the rascal does not return soon, we shallhave him advertised."

  These cruel words fell with indescribable bitterness on Aunt Zsuzsi'ssensitive heart. That a father should speak thus of his lost son! Shehad no words to reply; but, rushing into the room where Peterke waslying eating cake, she threw herself on her only remaining son, andbegan sobbing bitterly, on which Peterke turned the cake out of hismouth and began roaring too.

  Uncle Berkessy, much annoyed at the good lady's distress, sentmessengers in every direction, on foot and on horseback, to search forthe lost youth.

  Meantime our readers may have no objection to follow too, and see whathas become of him.

  Having crossed the garden, the steed went full speed across thefields, and out into the highroad, where he continued in full gallop,Sandor having surrendered himself to his fate, wondering whether heshould be carried off to Ukrania, as Mazeppa had been before him.

  Now and then he ventured to look hastily round, and saw the place theyhad left always at a greater distance, till at last it disappearedentirely, and only the tower of the village church was to be seen;finally, that too disappeared, and he began to see the towers of someunknown town rising out of the horizon before him.

  Now and then he called to the people he met on the road to catch thehorse, but they all understood that they were to keep out of the way,taking it for granted that he was riding for a bet, or else that hewas a messenger sent for a doctor or fire-engines.

  * * * * *

  It was six days since the pretty widow had sent Uncle Nanasy abroad tomake preparations for her wedding and to assemble her relations. Allher orders had been scrupulously attended to. And the _estafette_ whomJulia had sent to recall him having arrived half an hour too late ateach place, Uncle Nanasy returned to S---- without having seen him,and entered his niece's apartment with a huge bandbox under his arm.

  "Here I am, darling!--I have executed all your orders," he exclaimed;"and here are your bridal dresses--this Varga made, and is it notsplendid? And this is from Keresztessy, worthy of an empress! And hereis the dispensation in my pocket--and the confections are in thatgreat case outside--and all our relations will be here: went aboutmyself, darling, and invited them all--But what's the matter? You arenot pleased with the dresses?"

  Julia, trembling with vexation and rage, had pushed away the boxviolently, and it rolled on the floor, crushing all the finery.

  "Take these dresses out of my sight!" she exclaimed, in a voice chokedwith passion. "I don't want to see them--nor the dispensation, norconfections, nor relations, nor yourself either, you facetious,meddling, old fool!"

  Uncle Nanasi's eyes and mouth opened wide at this unexpectedreception; his jaws moved, as if endeavouring to articulate, though hewas utterly incapable of pronouncing a syllable.

  When a man discharges all the business confided to him in the mostpunctual way possible, just as he expects to receive at least a kissin return, and instead of it, has a box thrown at his head amid astorm of abuse, what is he to suppose?

  Nanasy bacsi was beyond supposition; and, to add to his amazement, hisfair niece had thrown herself down on the sofa, and was sobbingbitterly.

  At that instant the sound of horses' hoofs was heard in the court, andJulia's maid burst into the room with a look of astonishment,"Miss!--Madam!--gracious lady! Master Kalman's horse!"

  "Don't dare to admit him," cried the lady, starting passionately fromher seat.

  "But it is not Master Kalman, only his horse, with a strange younggentleman."

  "Who?"

  Who, indeed, but the unfortunate Sandor, who had been carried acrossthe district to the principal town of the neighbouring county, and setdown before a strange house half dead with terror and fatigue!

  Kalman had been accustomed to visit Julia every day on horseback, andon these occasions the fair lady used to feed the horse with sugarfrom her own delicate hands, so that when he passed up that street theanimal would frequently carry his master perforce into the court ofJulia's house, and now, having been six days absent, he hadconsequently been six days without sugar, and, naturally enough,finding himself unchecked, set off, and never stopped till he arrivedin the court of Julia's house, where he stood still, and beganneighing for the sugar.

>   This is the most natural way of explaining the psychology of thecircumstance, at least as far as we are capable of comprehending theideas of a horse.

  Sandor tumbled off the horse's back as soon as it stopped, andtottered towards the wall with aching and distorted limbs: presently,he crept up to the door with great difficulty, just as Julia with hermaid had appeared on the staircase to see who was there.

  "Who are you?--what do you want?--how did you come here?" were thefirst questions put to the unhappy stranger.

  "Don't ask me anything," groaned the horseman. "I am lost--I amdying--my back is broken--put me to bed and call a surgeon. I am justgoing to die!"

  Julia saw with real sympathy that the youth was in great suffering,and, sending her servant immediately in search of medical and surgicalaid, she put the tortured adventurer to bed, and bestowed everypossible attention which female tenderness could suggest. At last thearrival of the doctors relieved her as to the state of theinvalid--assuring her that the young man was only saddle-sick, andthat a few hours of rest would put all to rights.

  * * * * *

  At Gabor Berkessy's, matters became more serious every hour. Mrs.Gulyasi would let nobody draw breath till she had turned out the wholehousehold in search of her son, while she herself wandered aboutdistracted, asking every new comer what they had done with her son! Atlast she was seized with violent cramps, and was obliged to go to bedto tea and warming-pans.

  Poor Lina and Mrs. Tallyai kept watch by her bedside, and never closedtheir eyes all night; while Menyhert slumbered with a calm consciencein the next room, snoring so loudly that they were obliged to rousehim once in each five minutes for fear of disturbing the invalid.

  At last, towards morning, she fell asleep, overcome by fatigue andgroaning, and Mrs. Tallyai also sank down on the sofa to get a fewminutes' rest, when all at once the footman was heard beating thegentlemen's coats in the corridor.

  The two girls ran out eagerly and desired him not to make such anoise, as the ladies had only just fallen asleep.

  As the footman retreated with the coats, Sizike observed somethinglying on the floor, and running over, picked up an open pocket-book,on the outside of which was printed in large golden letters,"Journal," and the initials "K. S."

  Who could blame severely two young girls, when the journal of a youngman--not entirely without interest in their eyes--had fallen intotheir hands, that they should be unable to withstand the temptation ofpeeping just a very little into it? At all events it was very natural.The two girls ran whispering and tittering behind a pillar, andhurriedly turned over the leaves of the mysterious book. It was fullof verses; here and there dried flowers, or a forget-me-not of plaitedhair peeped out between the leaves, which they carefully replaced, andamused themselves with reading the verses, stifling their laughter asthey gaily snatched the book out of each other's hands. SuddenlyLina's eyes fell on some well-known lines. She looked again; they wereindeed the very same which she had read the day before in the Regelo,with this slight difference, that they were not addressed to herself,but to Julia Cs----, and instead of dark hair and eyes, these spoke offorget-me-not eyes and golden hair; otherwise it was quite thesame--every angel and charmer in its place, the same heartaches, thesame readiness to die, and promises to meet in a better world!

  Lina felt herself precisely in the situation of a person who accepts acompliment, and then perceives it was intended for another. Shehastily closed the Journal and retreated to her room, to hide theblush of shame which covered her face, as if a hundred eyes wereturned upon her. For once in her life, a feeling of vanity had crossedher heart; but now she was severely punished for it: all thosebeautiful similes and sweet words had not been written for her atall, but only translated from fair to dark! She was completelydisenchanted.

  The sun had already risen, when one of the messengers who had beendespatched on Sandor's traces returned, with the consolatory news thathe had discovered the young gentleman, and that nothing was the matterwith him; on the contrary, he was in excellent hands, under the careof a beautiful lady, who would not let him go until he had entirelyrecovered from the fatigue occasioned by his ride--meanwhile, shehoped that his worthy parents would come and be her guests until theyoung gentleman was thoroughly restored.

  At this news, Aunt Zsuzsi suddenly came to herself, rose from bed, andordered her carriage; and without even waiting for breakfast, thankedher host for all his kindness, hurried her husband and little Peterke,with tied-up jaws, into the conveyance, and desired the coachman todrive for life and death to S----. The lad who had brought the messagewas seated beside the coachman as a guide, having forgotten the lady'sname on his way back, but hoped to be able to find the house again.

  Uncle Gabor shook hands cordially with Menyhert, who was already inthe coach, exclaiming gaily: "But for all this our process must notfall to the ground--_liquidum est debitum_; and if it cannot bearranged otherwise, we must enforce the execution."

  Menyhert laughed heartily, understanding an allusion to thelong-promised marriage.

  The whole household accompanied the carriage to the road, where theyonce more parted, and the horses set off as fast as they were able.

  Uncle Gabor then returned to the house with his guests; Linka wasevidently out of spirits that morning, while Siza could scarcelycontain her joy on seeing the Gulyasis set off.

  "Miss Lina's sunny countenance is clouded to-day," said the poet in atheatrical tone.

  Lina, without condescending a reply, turned to Karely, with whom shebegan to converse, and they entered the house together.

  Kalman was thunderstruck. "Why is Miss Linka so ungracious to-day?" heasked Sizike, who still remained out.

  "Oh! did you not hear Mr. Menyhert Gulyasi threaten her father with anexecution?"

  "Who? the old gentleman?" asked Kalman, much shocked.

  Siza had spoken carelessly, without an idea of being believed; butKalman's look did not escape her quick eye--for at twelve years oldshe had more sharpness than most people have at forty. Withoutrectifying the mistake, she answered gravely: "Yes, certainly, oldBerkessy; but you must not speak of it to anybody."

  "Impossible!" cried Kalman, in great agitation; "he is considered avery rich man."

  "Ah! there are many considered rich who are not really so," saidSizike; and, carelessly humming a tune, she tripped into the house.

  Kalman paced up and down with folded arms: he was quite confounded.How could he imagine that a child of twelve years old should think ofmaking a fool of him? He might indeed have doubted had he heard itfrom a grown-up person; but why should a child say such a thing,unless she had heard it from those around her? In that case, it wouldbe better to return to Julia,--people said ill-natured things of her,to be sure, and she was rather volatile and capricious; but at allevents she was rich, and very pretty. It might not be so difficult,after all, to begin again: a few well got up scenes--an attempt atsuicide if necessary, and all would be right.

  A horse was the only thing wanting--perhaps Berkessy would lend himone; and with this hope the poet entered Uncle Gabor's apartment.Berkessy was sitting on a large arm-chair, and Karely was standingbefore him.

  Kalman paused as he approached, to consider how he should arrange hisspeech so that the old gentleman might suppose, and yet not supposethat it was no longer his intention to propose for his daughter. Andhere his evil genius again placed a looking-glass before him; andagain forgetting himself, he drew up his collar, brushed up his hair,and the "Sir" with which he began his speech was apparently addressedto himself.

  Uncle Gabor, who had been observing his strange attitude in themirror, suddenly burst into one of his uncontrollable fits oflaughter, which Kalman was obliged this time to take to himself. Hegrew red, then pale again, while his lips trembled with rage.

  The old gentleman suddenly checked himself, and asked in the gravesttone--"In what can I oblige you, nephew?"

  "Sir," replied Kalman, scarcely able to articulate with fury, "Ithought-
-I expected to find in you a cultivated man, who despised thesuperstition of the last century, which considered a poet as somethingridiculous."

  "I do not consider poets ridiculous, sir," replied Berkessy gravely,"as the walls of my room and my library will prove, where you may seethe portraits and the works of our best authors; but I despise thatbastard poetry which sucks the parent stem, and grows green withoutever producing fruit. I honour and revere those great minds, unitingbrilliant genius with vast study, who fulfil their glorious career tothe glory and honour of their country; but to mistake every reedwhistle for an AEolian harp, is what I cannot do. The real poetelevates our mind by his ideas, while those who only call themselvesso because they invent rhymes can but excite a smile; and if naturehas given to my smile a somewhat louder tone than usual, it is not myfault. Really, my dear nephew, the properties I first mentioned arerather rare, while the latter certainly abound--and this you must nottake amiss from an old man."

  No dictionary hitherto published contains words sufficientlyexpressive of all that Kalman felt at this moment. To accuse a man ofstealing a silver fork, is nothing in comparison of telling him he isa bad poet. At last, after a few moments' silence, he began in adignified tone: "Sir, if I did not consider that I am in your house"--

  "That need not incommode you in the least: in my house the guests arethe masters."

  "The insult you have offered me should be washed out with my blood,"continued Kalman (he did not yet presume to say with anybody's else).

  "I am not a surgeon," replied the old man, with quiet sarcasm.

  Karely now stepped in between them, and taking Kalman'sarm--"Comrade," he whispered, "you are playing a very ridiculous part,in disputing thus with an old gentleman."

  "Why has he not a son, that I might demand satisfaction?"

  "Take comfort, if that is all you want: I am his son, for I am goingto marry his daughter, and I am ready to give you all the satisfactionyou desire, but don't let us make a noise about it. I believe you aregoing home at all events; so, if you will drive with me to S----, wecan settle this affair with our friends."

  Uncle Gabor did not hear what the young men were saying; and as Karelydeclared that he was obliged to go to S----, and would take Kalmanwith him, he was quite satisfied, and ere long the two young men droveaway in the Tallyai carriage.

  * * * * *

  Meanwhile the Gulyasis arrived happily at S----, and were received bythe fair widow with the greatest amiability, and conducted to thechamber of the sick youth, in whom Aunt Zsuzsi recognised her lostson. He was reposing on a divan, arrayed in a rich silk dressing-gown,embroidered slippers, and gold-tasselled cap, formerly the property ofthe fair lady's husband.

  Of course, Aunt Zsuzsi remarked nothing of all this at first, shecould only see her long-lost son; and falling on his neck, she sobbedpassionately for several minutes, after which she poured forth herthanks and compliments to the pretty widow for her son's extraordinarypreservation, and the careful attendance bestowed upon him, repeatingat least ten times over--"Oh! if my son Sandor had such a wife, Ishould be at rest as to his fate--I should then be sure of havingplaced him in good hands!"

  Julia smiled charmingly, and brought the worthy family through all herfine apartments--showed them her porcelain, her silver services, andfinally her jewellery. Aunt Zsuzsi was beside herself; praisedeverything to the skies, and scarcely knew what to look at first.

  Meanwhile Uncle Nanasy took Menyhert up stairs into his smoking-room,and spoke a great deal of Julia's fortune, of her various merits, andof the brilliant alliance she would make for the first family in thecountry, and of her late husband's admirable arrangement, allowing hiswidow a handsome income in case of her marrying again--to all of whichMenyhert listened attentively, and the hours passed rapidly awayuntil dinner was announced.

  During dinner, the surprise and admiration of the family reached itshighest climax. They did not know which to admire most--the meats, orthe dishes in which they were served. Little Peterke alone seemedperfectly decided in his opinion as to the tarts, and had his own wayof proving it--what he could not eat he thrust into his pockets, andJulia helped him to fill his cap with sweetmeats.

  "Well, Peterke," said Aunt Zsuzsi after dinner, taking the dear boy inher arms, "tell me which you like best, Aunt Julia or Aunt Lina?"

  "I don't love Aunt Lina, because she would not give me chocolate whenI asked her."

  "Well then, you love Aunt Julia best, don't you?"

  "Uhum!"

  Mamma smiled, and gently patted the dear boy's cheek.

  It was now the seventh day, and the report had already spread throughthe whole town, that the pretty widow was to be married on that day.Her relations began to arrive, and one caleche followed another tillthe house was quite full of gaily dressed people, among which theindefatigable Uncle Nanasy was seen receiving everybody, and lookingmore mysterious than ever.

  "Where is the bride?" and "Where is the bridegroom?" was in everymouth; but, for once in his life, Nanasy bacsi answereddiscreetly--that Julia was at her toilet.

  Meanwhile Julia had arrayed herself in her bridal attire, in which shereally looked like a fairy queen, and was in the act of placing thewreath on her head when the door opened, and who should enterbut--Kalman Sos!

  Julia, who was standing before the mirror and saw him enter, had justtime to check the start of astonishment which his appearance caused,and, turning calmly round, "O you bad man!" she exclaimed in a voiceof gentle reproach, "to have put me to such an unmerciful trial. If Ihad not known you so well, I might have been quite desperate on youraccount."

  "Then you never doubted me?"

  "Doubted you! how could I imagine that you would forsake me, wheneverybody knew we were going to be married! I must have had a very lowopinion of you indeed, had I thought for an instant that you couldhave so basely betrayed a woman who loved you. Oh, no! I knew it wasonly a poetical caprice on your part to prove the strength of myconfidence. I knew you would return, and so I did not even put off myguests, but made all the preparations for the day appointed, so welldid I read your character."

  "Yes, Julia! you read truly," murmured Kalman, enchanted; "it was onlya trial, which you have overcome, and my love will now be a thousandtimes stronger than ever."

  Julia turned from her mirror, and, courtesying low, with a smile ofbewitching coquetry, asked, "Am I pretty?"

  "Oh, lovely!--Oh, angelic!" murmured the poet, throwing himself atJulia's feet.

  At that instant Uncle Nanasy entered to announce that the reverendgentleman had arrived for the ceremony.

  Julia poured some _Ess bouquet_ on her handkerchief, and, takingNanasy's arm, who stepped forward _a pas de menuet_, she descended tothe apartment where the guests were assembled.

  The company hastened to greet the lovely bride, each according to hisown mode, and one and all seemed lost in admiration of her beauty.

  At last the reverend gentleman stepped forward, and, rubbing his handswith a business-like countenance, asked the name of the "happybridegroom."

  Julia looked round with one of her sweetest smiles, while Kalmanhastened across all the corns in the company in his haste to join thebeautiful bride; but Julia's hand had already been placed in that ofnephew Sandor, whom she presented to the clergyman as her futurehusband!

  Kalman tottered towards the wall, and so completely lost his presenceof mind, that he tripped successively over three chairs into the lapof a fat dowager lady; and then, starting up, rushed to the nearestdoor, but finding it was a cupboard had to return across the room; andwhen at last he found the door and got down stairs, the first personhe happened to meet being a little kitchen-maid, he addressed her as"My lady aunt!" and begged her to get him a glass of water, for he was_very cold_!

  There was only one other person in a greater perplexity than himself,and this was the bridegroom. When Julia led him towards the clergyman,he stared as if he had heard sentence of death passed upon him. Theaffair had been already made up
between the elders, who considered itsuperfluous to mention the subject to Sandor beforehand, and Julia wastoo secure in the power of her charms to doubt of their success inthis undertaking.

  Sandor allowed himself to be led before the table arranged for theceremony, and when the clergyman asked him, "Do you love thishonourable lady whose hand you hold?" he only stared at the worthyman, till his father cried out, "Well, do you love her? Of course youlove her--how should you not love her?" on which Sandor recovering hissenses, went through the rest of the marriage formula pretty well,though it cannot be denied that his teeth chattered not a little.

  After this all went on well. The _fetes_ which succeeded the ceremonyremoved every constraint; and I must not omit, for the satisfaction ofour readers, that the happy bridegroom even danced after supper, andthereby managed to trip up and tumble over several of the guests.

  * * * * *

  Early next morning three young men were walking in the gardens outsidethe town. One was Karely, and the other two his comrades, who were toact as seconds in his encounter with Kalman.

  The latter had quitted Julia's house with a greater desire of fightingthan ever, and declared in several coffeehouses that he was determinedto shed either his own blood or that of another, and that he would notbe content with sending a ball through Karely's brain alone. In vainhis friends hinted that it was imprudent to publish his sanguinaryintentions beforehand, as he might be taken up. He cared not; theymight imprison him or take his life, but they should not touch hishonour!

  Karely and his friends had waited full half an hour after the timeappointed. At last Kalman's seconds arrived--alone! and, withcountenances expressive of anger and disgust, handed a letter to theiropponents. Karely opened it impatiently, and read as follows:--

  "GENTLEMEN,--Reflecting more coolly on this affair, I have come to theconclusion that greater obligations than those at present incurredforbid my risking a life not my own. The genius which fate hasintrusted to me is not mine alone. It belongs to my country--tohumanity in general.

  "There is another thing we must not lose sight of; a duel should onlytake place between individuals of equal rank, and I need not explainto you that the mind has its aristocracy as well as society. When youhave selected one of my own grade, I will gladly measure arms withhim; meanwhile I quit this ungrateful town, probably for ever, to seekelsewhere a circle more suited to my tastes," &c. &c.

  The seconds stared at one another; some laughed, others cursed, andKarely seeing there was nothing more to be done, took leave of hiscomrades, and, stepping into the carriage which was waiting for him,drove back to Berkessy's.

  About half way he met their caleche, with his mother and sister, andold Berkessy and his daughter, who all uttered exclamations of joy onseeing him.

  Some friend who had heard Kalman's threats in the _cafe_ hastened thatvery evening to inform them of it, and they were now driving for lifeand death to S----, and were infinitely relieved and rejoiced to meetKarely returning, especially when he assured them that the affair hadgone off without any bad consequence.

  Berkessy proposed going home with Karely, to give the ladies moreroom, and they all drove back together.

  Uncle Gabor then questioned Karely as to the cause of the duel, andhaving heard it was on _his_ account, he opened his eyes inastonishment.

  "And what right had you to demand satisfaction in my name?"

  "That right which a son has in his father's name."

  The old gentleman smiled. "But you are not my son."

  "But might I not be?"

  "Hm! nephew, you are certainly a fine, good-hearted lad, but they sayyou are very extravagant."

  "Well, perhaps they are right; but had I not been so hitherto, I mighthave been hereafter."

  "But how can I be sure that you will not be hereafter what you havebeen hitherto?"

  "Please, dear uncle, give me a year's trial. If within that time youshould hear anything against me, never admit me into your house again;if, however, I can prove that I have resolution to keep my word"--

  "Then I will never let you leave my house again," said Uncle Gabor,shaking his hand.

  * * * * *

  Karely kept his word. A year had passed by, and daring all that timeno temptation could prevail on him to diverge in the slightest degreefrom the resolution he had formed; and though he attended the countymeetings as usual, he had not once been seen to gamble; and after agreat dinner, he was sure to be the only sober one of the party.Meanwhile, he put his estate in order, and employed his leisure hoursin studying languages. In the course of a year, he was looked upon asthe most regular, as well as the most accomplished man in thedistrict. He continues to be so still. He married Lina, whom he lovessincerely and faithfully; and seven years have not disturbed theirfamily peace. Happiness is easily read in a woman's countenance, andthe lapse of years has only beautified Lina's.

  Sandor is also happy. He has a handsome wife with plenty of money; andAunt Zsuzsi visits them every year, and wears her daughter-in-law'sold-fashioned silk dresses.

  Uncle Abris is happy in his own way. He has married Boriska; and is nolonger obliged to pay her wages.

  Uncle Lorincz Kassay is happy too. The visits from his relations neverdiminish--his house is always full; and among the many suitors for hispretty daughter's hand, "little Peterke," now a handsome youth, is notthe _least_ in favour.

  Kalman alone is unhappy. Dissatisfied with the world, misunderstood byeverybody, his hopeful genius has turned to misanthropy. Gentlereader, if you ever read bad verses, think of him with pity!

 

‹ Prev Next ›