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, neph