Time flies; the past is gradually forgotten, and with it the past glory. Where are the glorious hopes—the bright dreams? All are gone. Comorn! monument of war! deserted and unhappy town! what remains of all thy power and glory? The blackened ruins, and the Comorn Honved officers!45

MOR PERCZEL.

When Mor (Morice) Perczel was sent as deputy to Presburg, he was obliged to pass a night at Vacz, where he heard so much of this marvellous somnambulist that he determined not to leave the place without seeing her, and accordingly he got an acquaintance to escort him in the evening to her lodging.

On entering the apartment, he beheld, by the dim light of a lamp, a very young girl, whose extreme paleness gave her an almost supernatural appearance; her face was thin, and her skin transparent; her eyes, which were very large, and of a pure blue, were half closed, and her lips and hands trembled exceedingly.

She was lying motionless in a large arm-chair; and her physician had just entered. He had recommended the use of magnetism for the cure of spasms at the heart, and it was now the sixth week that she had been under the magnetic influence. She was seldom awake, but still seldomer asleep; her usual state being something between the two—a constant unconscious reverie, accompanied by acute sensibility to the pleasure or pain of others, and a total absence of personal feeling. As her physician approached, and she came within the magnetic influence, she slowly opened her eyes, and fixed them steadfastly on his face without moving her eyelids. When he took her hand, a cold, faint smile passed over her countenance, and the trembling ceased; her physician then began to stroke her face, arms, and breast, with the tips of his fingers, at first slowly, but quickening the motion by degrees, while he kept his eyes steadily fixed upon his patient.

The girl continued motionless; her eyelids alone seemed to contend with the irresistible power which always gained upon her, closing by degrees and then opening wide again, while the pupils were unusually dilated.

Her whole countenance gradually underwent a wonderful change: her features assumed a character inexpressibly sweet and sad; she sighed and wept, her lips parted, while a calm smile settled on them. At last, her head sank on the cushion of her chair, and she fell asleep.

The physician now motioned to Mor Perczel to approach within the magnetic circle. Suddenly the girl's countenance assumed an expression of surprise and uneasiness.

"Who is this?" asked the physician, in a low, familiar tone.

The girl answered slowly, and with hesitation, "One of—our future—greatest leaders!"

Perczel smiled. "Perhaps in the camp of the Diet," he thought to himself.

"No, not in the Diet," replied the girl, to whom he had not communicated his thoughts; "on the field of battle!"

"And what fate awaits him there?" asked the physician.

"Let him beware of his own name!"

Before the termination of that year, Mor Perczel was a General in the Hungarian rebel army, had raised troops, and fought several battles, without ever recalling the prophecy of the Vaczi girl.

It was on the 30th December that the memorable action near Mor46 took place, in which the Hungarians were defeated with considerable loss.

The real cause of the loss of this battle has never been clearly proved up to the present day. It was enough, and more than enough to Perczel, that the battle was lost, his troops scattered, his positions occupied, his colours taken, and the gallant Zrinyi battalion, the flower of his army, cut to pieces or taken prisoners.

When he returned to Pesth after this battle, one of the town magistrates, ever ready with a jest, maliciously observed, "Ocsem47 Mor, your namesake did not receive you well."

"Indeed!" replied the General, without taking offence, "now I remember, that the somnambulist foretold me this just a year ago. If I did not believe that Görgei was the cause of our losing the battle, I should be inclined to think there had been witchcraft in it. Well, the Germans shall keep their name's-day by and bye!"

After this loss, the Hungarians were obliged to retreat from Pesth. The Government and treasury were removed to Debrecsen, and Perczel was intrusted with their escort thither.

Having accomplished this, he advanced with a small army towards Szolnok, where the enemy had encamped, and were fortifying themselves during the cold season.

One fine misty morning, Perczel crossed the Tisza48 on the ice to the enemy's nearest position, and, opening fire upon them, obliged them to retreat to Czegled, whither he pursued them.

The imperial troops had just crossed a village vineyard. Perczel saw the last dragoon disappear behind the acacia trees which skirted it, and, striking his spurs into his horse, he ordered his troops to advance, that the enemy might not escape them.

At that moment he was arrested by a stranger, who unceremoniously rode up to him, and, seizing his mantle, accosted him in French.

"N'allez pas là!" said the unknown, pointing to the vineyards.

The General looked at him in astonishment. The stranger was an old man, simply attired en civile, but there was something peculiarly striking in his martial air and keen glance.

"And why should I not go there?" asked Perczel.

"The enemy will bring you into a snare!"

"I should like to see that."

"You will see it. Behind those vineyards there is undoubtedly a concealed battery, from which you will receive a cross fire."

"Why do you imagine this?"

"Because it follows naturally from the position."

"Ah! we must not let our apprehensions retain us on such grounds; we have no time to speculate," cried the General, and, shaking off the importunate stranger, he once more galloped forward.

They were now scarcely a thousand paces from the vineyards. A Suabian peasant, whose cart had been overturned in endeavouring to pass the artillery, was standing by the roadside, uttering lamentations over his damaged goods.

"What village is that, good fellow?" asked Perczel out of mere curiosity, pointing to the village at the foot of the vineyards.

"Perczel!" replied the boor.

"That is I," said the General; "but I asked you the name of that village."

"May be your excellency is called after it, for its name has been Perczel since the beginning of the world."

The General stopped short. The words of the somnambulist recurred to him; he looked round for the old man—he was riding among the troops.

Perczel motioned to him to approach, and said, "Do you really believe that there is a battery concealed behind those vineyards?"

"I am certain of it. The slightest experience in tactics might determine that."

"And accordingly you consider the position unattainable."

"On the contrary—but on such occasions it is usual to make a détour."

"For which a very rapid movement were requisite, and our infantry is too much fatigued."

"We can manage that; intrust me with a battalion of infantry and two squadrons of cavalry, and wait here in reserve until I start the game from its cover."

"Do so," said the General, and, giving some directions to his aide-de-camp, he watched the stranger's movements with interest.

The old man put the infantry in the hussars' stirrups, and conducted them with the utmost expedition across the wood.

The idea was as natural as that of Columbus in regard to the egg, and yet it had occurred to no one before.

In a few minutes the rapid discharge of musketry announced that the stranger had not been mistaken; and the batteries, which were actually lying in ambush behind the hill, appeared retreating from either side.

Perczel then advanced with the reserve to meet his troops. They returned in triumph with the little, grayhaired stranger, who rode calmly on as if nothing had happened, his brow still blackened with the smoke from the gunpowder. The troops could not sufficiently extol his coolness and intrepidity.

"I owe you much," said Perczel, not ashamed to acknowledge the stranger's superiority. "May I know whom I have the honour of addressing?"

"My name is Henry Dembinszki," replied the stranger coldly.

Perczel respectfully saluted him, and placed the marshal's baton in his hand. "It is your due; henceforward let me serve in your ranks."

GERGELY SONKOLYI.

Ah yes, I behaved very ill indeed! I sinned against civilisation by refusing to wear square-toed boots, and for this enormity I was banished from the classes; and yet, nothing could induce me to wear anything but sharp-nosed csizmas.

I went home; and my father, after inflicting severe corporal punishment, threatened to bind me apprentice to a butcher. But, unfortunately for this speculation, the resident executioner of oxen declared that the trade required wit; otherwise I might now have possessed a two-story house in Pesth.

"You hit where you have your eye, master, don't you?" I asked the worthy slayer of cattle as he raised his axe, observing (for he squinted hideously) that he fixed his right eye on the bullock, and the left one on me.

"Eh! to be sure I do," replied the big man.

"Then I will just place myself beside you," I said, fearing he might look out of the wrong eye.

"Never fear," said the big man; and with one blow the work was done.

"Well now, Master Janos, tell me what peculiar talents are requisite here?"

"Heigh! you would not do for this trade. You see we have a different way of reckoning from what you students have."

"I believe you are right, Master Janos; for my mother is always complaining of your system of twice two."

And now this man is a landed proprietor, and I—a landless one!

Having been rejected by the schoolmaster and the butcher, I was considered a hopeless subject, and left to my own devices. What should I do at home? From morning till evening there was not wherewithal to stain my teeth; so for want of better employment, I began to look about the village. This certainly did not require much genius, for our house was on an eminence, from whence we had a view of the whole place; and when I mounted the great corn-stack in our yard, I could see directly into some of our neighbours' courts.

Here it was that I became initiated in certain hidden mysteries,—for example, how some of our village dames, who would launch forth on holidays all smartness and finery, were up to their elbows in dirt at home, and to their knees in mud—their heads vying with those unowned hay-stacks which are kicked at by every passing colt; while their lips, which were so daintily prim on holiday occasions that one could scarcely believe them capable of pronouncing the letter R, now raised the very dust on the roads with their abuse.

Then there was a house which had two doors to it; and whenever the goodman made his exit at the one door, somebody else entered by the other.

At another house, whenever the master came home late, his wife laid his dinner outside, upon the millstone table, with the servants; and the best of the matter was, that with this too familiar exception, he was held in vast respect by the whole household.

All this was very well to contemplate from a distance; but I happened at last to stumble upon something, a nearer view of which would have been by no means disagreeable to me.

Our next neighbour was my excellent uncle, Gergely Sonkolyi. His house was pretty ancient; and I remember, in my childish days, pulling the reeds49 out of the roof to look for sugar. In those days the walls were painted partly blue and partly yellow; but afterwards the old man had them all rough-cast, and then it was not necessary to paint them again.

The house lay below the garden, and there were little plots before the windows, which were always filled with bouquets of musk and carrot flowers; and from a square hole in the roof sundry bunches of pepper blushed forth, in the warlike vicinity of an outstretched scythe.

Several large mulberry trees in the court-yard formed a roosting-place for the poultry; and opposite the kitchen door was the entrance to the wine-cellar, over which hung a variety of pumpkins. Beyond this was a large pigeon-house, farther on a pig-sty, then a two-yard measure, then a draw-well; while various implements of industry appeared in the perspective—such as ploughs, harrows, waggons, &c. And if to all these I add nine dogs, two speckled bullocks, and a flock of geese, I have before me a very perfect view of my Uncle Sonkolyi's court-yard.

The nine dogs kept watch at the entrance when my uncle was not hunting, feasting in imagination upon the savoury odour of gulyas-hus50 which issued from the grated door of the kitchen, where a large fire burned incessantly in the broad grate, with various huge pots hissing among the flames, while a squadron of linen servants,51 each one redder than the other, hurried to and fro under the direction of old Mrs. Debora.

Beyond the kitchen were several other apartments, for a description of which I must refer my readers to the county chronicles, where all such goods and chattels are particularly delineated. For my part, I only remember the little back room, with its large white stove, the old eight-day clock, two great tent-beds standing side by side, a double-leaved oak table in the middle of the room, and the history of Joseph and his brethren on the walls. A casement door, opening inside, disclosed another chamber, whose walls were hung with hunting-bags, whips, bugles, swords, and saddle accoutrements, each one more rusty than another. But among all these reminiscences, the most interesting in my regard is an old black leather sofa: ah! it was on that very old sofa—but I must not anticipate.

Well, it was here that my dear uncle lived—the honourable and nobly-born Gergely Sonkolyi.

But he might have lived here or anywhere else for aught I might have known or cared, had it not been for the prettiest—the very prettiest little girl that mortal eyes e'er rested on.

She was the old man's daughter. Little Esztike was a most lovely creature: often, very often did sleep forsake me thinking of her, although I still oftener dreamt of her—of those small soft hands, and those large dark eyes, one half glance of which I would not have exchanged for the Chinese emperor's finest cap. I was never tired of standing guard all day long on the top of the corn-stack, from whence I could see my little darling when she came out to the court to water her flowers, or feed her doves. Each motion, each turn—in short, everything about her, was so engaging and so attractive, that I often forgot while watching her whether it was morning or evening.

But all this was not sufficient for happiness: it was like sucking the honey through the glass, to dream of so much sweetness.

I would have given kingdoms, had I possessed them, to any one who would have helped me with good counsel; but good counsels are not mushrooms, growing where they are not sown.

Everybody knew that my uncle, Gergely Sonkolyi, was a peculiar man,—who did not understand a joke in certain matters, and had a strange fancy of never allowing any of the male sex to approach within nine paces of his daughter. "Whoever wanted to marry her" (this was his argument) "will ask for her; and if not, he shall not make a fool of her." And his usual reply to suitors for his daughter's hand was: "Will you have her to-day, nephew, or wait till to-morrow?" indicating that she was still very young, and not fit for the charge of a ménage. But all this I considered a very matter-of-fact view of life; and I must confess that it annoyed me extremely at the time, though afterwards I acknowledged he was right.

Notwithstanding my uncle's caution, however, there were times when I contrived to make little Esztike sensible of my feelings towards her. But there was one terrible fatality—that old Mrs. Debora, who never moved from home, but kept watch for ever, like a dragon over treasure; and wo to the unhappy youth who dared to visit Esztike—there were few who had courage to make a second trial.

Some said that this Mistress Debora was a sister of the old man; others, that she was his wife. Indeed she might have been his grandmother, for she looked older than the Visegradi tower.52

It was six whole years since I had shaken the school dust from my boots, and still the gates of paradise were barred against me.

One evening, when the old gentleman had gone out, I could no longer control my impatience; and leaping over the garden wall, I slipped to the back of the house, where I could at least see the windows of the room in which Esztike sat; and there I stood, with a beating heart, and eyes fixed on the shadow of a hand which I distinctly saw through the muslin curtains, moving up and down at some needle-work, while I actually devoured it with my eyes.

Suddenly the hand advanced and knocked violently at the window; it was impossible not to see that it was intended for me, and, while I was hesitating whether to fly towards it or from it, the window burst open, and I thought the Egyptian seven years of leanness had thrust its head out—it was Mistress Debora!

"What do you want there, you good-for-nothing, long-legged horihorgas,53 staring like a calf at a new gate, eh? Get along about your business, or I will set the dogs after you; if you have nothing better to do, go and seek for grass to make your wisdom-teeth grow;" and with this compliment she closed the window violently.

It was several minutes ere I could collect my scattered senses. At last, I drew my cap over my eyes, and went home with a heavy heart. I lay gazing all night at the starry heavens; the very thought of sleep was banished from my senses. How could it be otherwise? as often as I tried to think of my little Esztike's beautiful face, the hideous vision of old Mistress Debora rose before me; and to increase my ill humour, all the cats in the neighbourhood seemed to have collected to squall and trill under my window. I contented myself for some time with patiently anathematizing them; but perceiving at last that they were rehearsing operas from end to end, I jumped up, and, seizing a rolling-pin—the first implement which came to my hand, I dashed it amongst the choristers. It was certainly a theatrical stroke, and from that night forward I never had cause to repeat it.

Next morning, however, the black soup54 awaited me. My father entered the room, with his fox-headed mantle over one shoulder and his lambskin cap drawn over his brow.

"Well, my lad, you have done for yourself now," he exclaimed; "you knocked out the brains of Mrs. Debora's pet cat last night."

"Phu! this is a bad job indeed! Is there actually no life in him?"

"All gone, ab intestato," said my father, holding up the great fat animal, with its four legs hanging down, and its white teeth grinning at me.

I shook my head in despair. If Mistress Debora ever finds this out, there is an end to all hope, and I shall never be able to marry. Alas! why did I allow the cats to put me out of temper? A thought suddenly struck me, and, dressing hastily, I laid the deceased neatly, out in my handkerchief, and, tying up the four corners, started for Mistress Debora's.

At the gate, I found the nine dogs disputing with a Jew, in whose cloak they had made sundry air-holes, while the unfortunate man roared and struggled, to the infinite amusement of the servants.

This was so far propitious for me, as otherwise they might have required my passport also, and it would have been no jesting matter to have struck my uncle's dogs; but happily I got through the kitchen without observation, and looking once more at the four corners, to see that all was right, I knocked humbly at Mistress Debora's door.

"Who is there?" said a voice like the sound of broken crockery.

I opened the door. At the memorable window sat Mistress Debora, who turned round and squinted at me from beneath her spectacles. Her hair—or more probably some other person's—was twisted up behind with a giraffe comb, and the face, which was the colour of brown leather, had more wrinkles than could well find room.

At the other window sat my little ruby at her work. There was not much to be seen from her window, poor child! for a large vetch-stack was piled up before it. As I entered, she blushed to the very shoulders, or at least I fancied so; but her eyes were cast down, and she never ventured to raise them.

"Well, what have you got there?" said Mistress Debora,—instead of wishing me good morning.

I advanced, and, taking up her bony fingers, pressed them against my teeth—bah! I have never been able to pick a bone since. "Ah! my dear, worthy aunt, have you forgotten me? I am that little, fair-haired Peter Csallokozi, who used to bring young pigeons so often to his dear aunt."

"And who used to break my windows so often with pebbles. Well, you have grown big enough, at any rate."

"But my dear aunt has preserved her looks quite wonderfully, or rather I should say, grows younger."

"Ay, I was handsome enough in my day; folks can tell you that I used to wash my face every evening with warm milk, which made my skin so white, one can see that still—(it required imagination); there is not so handsome a girl in the country as I was in my young days—your father may remember that—('when you were young the priest was not born that christened my father,' thought I, but did not say it). For some years past I have lost much of my looks, certainly. Ay, ay, there is nothing lasting under the sun!"

Meanwhile I had been drawing nearer to Esztike, which the dragon observing, desired her to go out and see if the labourers were come. Esztike rose and went out.

"Well, let me hear what you have to say, nephew; and tell it quickly, for we are always busy here."

"To come to the point then, I must observe, dear aunt, that in these days we cannot be too cautious; misfortune meets us at every step, and"—

"Therefore we should stay at home and mind our business. Nothing can happen to us at home."

"Not to ourselves perhaps, but there are other creatures about us, aunt; for instance, you have cats and so have we"—

"Only that ours are handsomer."

"Perfectly true. Well, these cats frequently pay visits—yours to ours, and ours to yours"—

"I know that well enough, for your cats gnaw all the sausages in our attics; but ours don't need to go to you, for they have enough to eat at home. Go, Estike," continued the hag, as the little girl re-entered, "and see if the young peacocks have been fed."

("A time will come, you old witch, when I shall crack nuts with your bones," thought I, but did not say it.) "Well, dear aunt, last night, as I was saying, these innocent creatures had assembled, and were singing away together—it was quite delightful to hear them—when some cruel and treacherous hand knocked out the brains of the handsomest among them."

"Served you right! what business had the cat to be out?"

"It was not our cat that was killed, but yours, dear aunt," I replied, untying the handkerchief, and producing the remains of her favourite.

I shall never forget the look of rage, despair, and horror, which I was doomed to encounter at that moment, and which has often haunted me since, even in my dreams. I pinched myself at last, to assure myself that I had not been turned to stone.

"My cat!" she shrieked, while her eyes glared, and her lips foamed, and, tearing it out of my hands, she began kissing and fondling it like an infant. "Cziczuskam! cziczuskam! look at me—look at me!" she cried, pulling its eyes open. At last she laid it on the table, and, throwing herself upon it, began to weep bitterly.

At that moment Esztike re-entered, and sat down before her little table. Taking advantage of Mistress Debora's emotion, I slipped up to her—to Esztike, not to Mrs. Debora—and, pressing her small white hand in mine, asked, in a tremulous voice, "You are not angry with me, dearest Esztike, are you?"

"Why should I be angry?" said the artless little girl, casting down her eyes, and drawing her hand out of mine.

It was a foolish question, I allow; but when one is in love, wise questions do not always present themselves.

I had scarcely time to look at my little violet, before Mistress Debora again grumbled out, "Esztike, go and see if your father is coming!"

Tartar take the old vampire! I thought she was bewailing her cat. Once more alone with her, however, I endeavoured to console her, spoke of the weather, of the maize crop, of the vines—all in vain. At last she started up—

"Wait, you worthless scamp!" she cried; "whoever you are, who murdered this little innocent creature—I'll find you out, and revenge it on your children's children—(Merciful Heaven! she means to live three generations longer!) I will place the affair before the county, and begin a suit immediately, a violentialis, infamisationalis suit. You shall be avenged, my cruelly murdered, innocent, speckled cat, and I will make you a fearful example to generations still unborn!"

"You are quite right, my dear aunt, your determination is excellent; he deserves the utmost rigour of the law, and I promise you I shall be the first to look out for him."

"Will you really promise that?" exclaimed Mistress Debora; and then followed what I had dreaded might be the consequence of my generous speech. She actually seized and embraced me!

"My dear nephew, you were always a good lad; your father was a worthy man—I love all your family. Find out the murderer of my cat, and I will bless you for it, even after your death!"

"I would rather bless you under those circumstances," I thought, but did not say it; and, promising to do all in my power to hasten the criminalis inquisition, she proceeded to enumerate her favourite's merits—how he could purr, how he would leap on the table, and drink coffee out of a saucer, how sagacious, and how knowing he was; and then followed anecdotes illustrative of the virtues of her poor lost cat, to all of which I listened with unheard-of patience.

I at length suggested the prudence of removing the object of her emotion, and, after a most affecting scene, she consigned the precious relics to my arms, to be buried under her window, and I took leave, promising to return as soon as possible with some information relative to the murderer.

I then buried the cat, and raised a monument of sods above its grave, by which means I thoroughly ingratiated myself in Mistress Debora's favour.

Meanwhile, she seemed to have forgotten that she had sent Esztike out to watch for her father; and when, with a beating heart, I hurried to the gate, I found my little charmer still there.

"For whom are you waiting so long?" I asked, by way of conversation.

"For my dear father," she replied, twisting the little tassel of her apron.

"Poor little Esztike! how much you have to suffer from that old Mrs. Debora!"

She did not speak, but the large tears filled her eyes.

It was then I first remarked how beautiful black eyes look when they weep: tears do not become blue eyes, I like them best when they smile.

"Ah, Esztike! it should not be thus if—but I won't let you be annoyed if I can help it, that I won't."

She did not answer. I confess I should not have liked if she had been able to answer every word I said.

"Nobody loves me," I continued, "in the wide world: my life is very lonely and sad; but surely Heaven will smile upon us yet."

My little dove looked as if she wished to go, yet fain would stay; but as I behaved discreetly, she remained. A cold wind began to blow, and she had only a slight silk handkerchief round her neck.

"Why don't you put on a warmer handkerchief?" I asked. "You might catch cold and die."

"It would be no great pity," said the poor child, sadly; "I would go to a good place, I hope, and nobody would miss me."

"Oh! do not say that, unless you wish to break my heart (here my voice was somewhat choked)! You must live a long time yet, dearest Esztike; for if you die, I shall soon know how deep the Danube runs!"

And then I hastened away; and when I reached home, I found that my cheeks were wet, and that I was sobbing like a child. Ay, the heart of man makes him a strange animal!

For some time I had no occasion to fear my uncle's dogs, knowing that Mistress Debora would not set them at me; but I generally watched till the good man went out to wage war on the hares, and then I hastened to our neighbour's with all the information I had collected as to the murderer of the cat—describing, from his cap to his slippers, a being very unlike myself, and whose supposed existence nearly turned Mistress Debora's head.

But this could not continue very long; and my aunt at last began to forget her pet's untimely end, and no longer received her dear nephew so graciously as before.

After a lapse of some days, I called on pretext of speaking to my uncle (I had watched till I had seen him go out, with gun and dogs); and after poignant regrets at not finding him at home, I asked Mistress Debora if she had heard what had happened in the village. As nothing had happened, she naturally had not heard, and therefore was the more curious to know; and I accordingly proceeded to repeat all the gossip I had collected from some old gazettes with as much eloquence as I could—and (Heaven forgive me!) I fear, as much invention—till the old lady was ready to drop off her seat at my histories. She would listen for hours; and though I dared not speak to Esztike, we had frequent opportunities of exchanging sighs, and our eyes carried on most interesting dialogues together.

On one pretext or other I was honourably received for some time, and even allowed to bring Esztike books, which I had borrowed from a cousin in the village. True, they were only German books; but what could I do? Had I brought such unholy things into the house in the Hungarian language, I should have been banished from it for ever; for, if I remember rightly, they were romances and love tales, by Wieland and Kotzebue. But they passed for good books; and Mistress Debora (the worthy soul knew no other language than Magyar) would frequently insist on my translating the salutary effusions, which of course I did in as touching a style as possible, while the tears ran down the furrows in her cheeks.

One day, after taking leave (I generally had an instinctive feeling as to the time when my uncle would return), I was in the act of opening the house door, when it was pushed towards me, and the next instant my noble and honourable uncle, Gergely Sonkolyi, with pipe and brass-headed cane, stood before me.

How to escape was my first impulse; but seeing this was impossible, my next was to put a brave face on the matter.

"Well, nephew," said my uncle, twisting his moustache; "red, stammering, out of breath—eh? So you visit here, do you?"

What could I answer? I was not fool enough to say I had come to visit Esztike; and should I say I was visiting Mistress Debora—she may be his wife, I thought, and then he will shoot me through the head!

"I know your errand," continued my uncle, pertinaciously holding the handle of the door. "Storms and thunder! don't think to put your fingers in my eyes! Ten thousand fiery devils! if ever you dare to come within my door again, I swear by the woods of Karpath that I will make leather belts of your skin!"

"Thank you, uncle," I replied, delighted to get off so easily, as, once more commending me to the devil, he entered, and shut the door behind him; while I heard his allegorical phrases—or, as an impartial world would call them, his oaths—echoing wrathfully through the house.

What was to be done? I found myself just where I had been before the death of the cat.

I now considered it prudent to avoid the dogs.

From this day forward, I had very seldom an opportunity of seeing Esztike, except across our gardens; and even then, I exposed myself to the danger of being shot through the head, if my uncle should see me.

On one occasion Esztike gave me to understand by signs, that she dared not approach nearer. I pointed to the attic windows, which my little sweetheart understood at once; and from that day we frequently carried on a pantomimic conversation from our attics. I often laugh when I think how much we contrived to say, and how quickly we comprehended each other's gestures.

One day I heard that my uncle had set out on a long journey, and that the dogs had been tied up, which none would have dared to do till the old man had fairly erased the frontiers of the county.

I immediately went out into the woods, and spent several hours in filling my hat with mushrooms, which I brought to our neighbour's.

The old man had probably turned the house upside down on the occasion of my last expedition; for every one, from the first cook to the last dog, looked askance at me.

As I opened the door of the sitting-room (I had only one leg and one arm inside), my progress was arrested by Mistress Debora, who hastened over, and shutting the door on my other arm and leg, which consequently remained outside, exclaimed, with hospitable consideration: "Just stay where you are, nephew, and say what you want."

"I only want to beg my dear aunt's acceptance of some mushrooms, which I have gathered for her."

"Eh, well!" she exclaimed, releasing me from my ignominious position. "You have brought mushrooms? that is another thing. Come in."

I entered, and produced the mushrooms.

"That is a good lad! Well, what have you been about? do you still go to school?"

"Oh, dear, no! I have finished my studies."

"So soon! And what business are you going to take up?"

"I am an oculist, aunt."

"Indeed! already?"

"At your service, aunt."

Little Esztike tripped up to me: "Now you are joking, bacsi," she whispered, with a mischievous smile.

"Well, you must carry on the joke," I whispered in reply.

"And why?"

"Merely because I wish my dearest Esztike to hand me Aunt Debora's spectacles over the wall this evening; I am going to make a little improvement in them."

"Well," interrupted Aunt Debora, who had been examining the mushrooms; "and so you are an oculist? Ay, ay!"

"At your command. But I will not inconvenience you further," I said, taking up my hat.

"Oh, stay a little longer," said the good dame—at the same time pushing me towards the door, which she opened to let me out.

I got the spectacles that evening; and removing the magnifying glasses with great care, I substituted a pair which I had cut out of the smoothest pane of glass with a diamond.

Next morning I rose early and replaced the spectacles on Aunt Debora's table, after which I obtained admittance with a basket of cherries.

"We are really much obliged to you," said Mistress Debora, speaking in the plural number, though she gave none to anybody but herself.

"Oh, it is not worth mentioning."

"But I must just look if they have any inhabitants," she added; "this fruit generally has." And searching for her spectacles, she placed them on her nose and began examining the cherries, holding them first close, then at a distance, and then taking off her glasses and wiping them to look again.

"I don't know what is the matter," she exclaimed at last; "I can't see in the least to-day."

"Eh, how? what is the matter?"

"Just try these glasses, nephew, and tell me if they magnify."

I looked through them. "Why, aunt, the hairs on my skin look like porcupines' quills."

"O dear! then I must be becoming blind, for I can see nothing through them."

"My dear aunt," I exclaimed, with a look of alarm, turning her round to the light, "what can be the matter with your eyes? St. Gregory! you are going to get a white cataract! Why don't you take more care of yourself?"

"A white cataract!" she shrieked, covering her eyes with both her hands. "Oh! I am lost! I am undone! Nephew, dear nephew! can you not help me?"

"Hm!" I replied, with a look of anxious importance, making a few doctor's grimaces; "have you no sensations of paralysis in the tunica choroidaia?"

She knew what the tunica choroidaia was! and replied that she certainly had some sensations of the kind.

"Do you awake often at night?"

"I do indeed, every night."

"Hm! a bad symptom. Show me your tongue."

She produced it. "A very bad tongue indeed (here, at least, I spoke truth). If these symptoms should be accompanied by pains in the elbows (I knew the good lady was subject to this), I fear, my dear aunt, it may end in—marmaurosis!"

"O dear! O dear!—my elbows ache constantly; but what is the marmaurosis?"

"That is when the retina gets apoplexia, and the patient remains in total ablepsia."

She did not comprehend much of this, but what she did was quite enough for her.

"For Heaven's sake, don't let me get blind, dear nephew!—what shall I do, or what can I take?"

"There is not a moment to lose: you must go to bed instantly, while I prepare some medicine."

I went home and mixed a little liquorice and rose-water, and found my patient in bed on my return.

Having rubbed her eyes with the rose-water, and tied up her face so that only her chin protruded from beneath the bandage, I ordered her to keep quite quiet, and by no means to remove it until I gave her leave, as otherwise total ablepsia might be the consequence.

And now I could speak to my little Esztike without disturbance; and (Heaven forgive me!)—I gave her a hearty kiss!

"Esztike!" cried Aunt Debora, suddenly starting up.

Esztike had slipped out of the room.

"Csitt!" I replied softly, "Esztike is not here."

"What was that smack I heard just now?"

"I was drawing the cork from the medicine-bottle."

"O dear! the medicine!"

"Yes, dear aunt; but you must not talk or make the least exertion, for you will certainly get the black cataract if you do."

"This will not do," thought I; "for if she has not eyes, she has ears, and good ones too."

After a few minutes, I sat down beside her and felt her pulse.

"You must know, dear aunt, that we oculists have ascertained by anatomy that the ears and nose serve, like garret windows, to communicate fresh air to the nerves of the eyes. When, however, the nerves are in a state of inflammation, the danger is, that the air, passing through all these windows at once, may occasion a draught, which would irritate the inflammation; and therefore, according to Doctor Smilax, on such occasions one of the passages must be stopped with cotton. So now, dear aunt, you may have your choice; which do you consider the most convenient to have closed up—the nose or the ears?"

She naturally preferred dispensing with her ears. And now, at last, this living house Statuarium was not only blind, but deaf and dumb too, and for the first time in her life she left her fellow-creatures in peace.

And thus days glided by—centuries of bliss they might have been, for aught I knew or cared. Mistress Debora was still under strict medical discipline, and my little Esztike was as good as she was lovely; and I—I don't wish to praise myself. Sufficient to say, we were happy, and forgot all but our own happiness, as if it were to last for ever; but alas! when does a man in love ever think of the future?

One evening, later than usual, as I was still sitting beside Esztike (I could not tear myself away, and besides, it was raining hard), I thought I heard some person knocking at the outer door, but took no notice of it; for, with my little dove by my side, what cared I if the world were falling to pieces around us? The old clock ticked cheerfully; and Esztike and I had so many pretty things to say about nothing, as we sat together on the same seat (the old black leather sofa), and consequently not very far apart.

All at once we heard a noise in the kitchen.

"Holy Saint Stephen! it may be thieves!" cried Esztike trembling, and drawing still closer to me.

Who would not feel courageous under such circumstances? For my part, I felt capable of unheard-of heroism; and assuring her that she had nothing to fear from a dozen robbers as long as I was there, I seized a pistol (without a trigger) from the wall, while Esztike, encouraged by my boldness, took the candle, and we advanced, to the door. I opened it. Esztike uttered a loud scream, and extinguished the light. The outer door was open, and a dark form advanced towards us.

"St. Barbara, help!" I sincerely ejaculated. "Who is there?" I exclaimed, in as loud a voice as I was master of, at the same time presenting the triggerless pistol at the black form.

"Thunder and storms! and who are you, I should like to know? Lightning and fury!"—

"Uyüyü! my worthy uncle!" I cried, each word sounding like a squib let off at my ear; and making a dash for the door, the next instant I was outside. But here I was stopped; the flaps of my coat having been caught in the heavy gate, I could neither turn nor extricate myself, but remained hanging by my wings like a cockchafer.

In vain I pulled and kicked, praying that the flaps of my only holiday coat might be torn off, while I heard my uncle deliberately opening the door behind me.

"He will make mince-meat of me," thought I; and exerting all my remaining strength, I tore myself from the flaps and fell to the ground.

"Now for it—fly!" I exclaimed; and starting up, my legs bore me with supernatural agility towards the forest.

"Stop, rascal!" roared my pursuer behind me, "or I will shoot you through the head."

I only ran the faster.

"Stop!" he roared again, "or I will shoot you through the legs."

As I had not stopped for the sake of my head, I naturally had no superior partiality for my legs; and so we continued to run—Heaven knows how long!—until we were a good way through the forest. Neither of us had the slightest idea of capitulating; but I began to perceive that the distance between us was gradually decreasing (the old man had learned to run in 1809),55 and I began to smell the brass-headed cane very near me.