Morning journal and courier., 1882-06-02
The Hungarian Plains


At first the plains softly undulating are
dimpIed here and there with shady hollows;
while like golden islands in an ocean of vivid
green lie long stretches of yellow COLA and
ripening corn. On the gently rising upland
yonder a dark round speck appears against
the sunlit sky; gradually it elongates, and
we hear voice singing in quivering treble
some national idyI 1t is a husbandman
emerging from the hollow and trudging
homeward along the crest of the undulation.
Then all is silence and solitude once more,
till coming to a standstill at one of the prlmi-
tive wells by the roadside, we hear the dis
tant rumble of a wagon as its wheels grind
heavily along, the driver of it singing, as he
goes, a melancholy ditty in the minor key.
Then one by one the villages aad solitary
farms lying on the horizon die away, and we
enter the boundless plains. How lonely we
feel and what tiny atoms of creation, with
no objects to measure ourselves by save b1rds
of prey, and the white clouds sailing far up
in the great, blue, glorious sky! Our CARR
age, though imposing only IN the matter OF
size proved very comfortable, its ponderous
hood shielding us from the heat of the sum-
save where, taking mean advantage of weak
places in its constitution, it shot fiery arrows
in upon us, scarcely less piercing than those
that pour down upon the head of the travel
Ter in the desert The sun reflects itself in
the white and dusty road. Above the soil on
-
air like the haze from lime kiln. Every
thing is hot and dusty; not an insect IS seen
lowering about the low bushes which now
and then skirt our pathway. All nature Is
taking it's siesta in the dreamy noontide, and
nothing is awake but the scarlet plmpernel
| that with wide-open, unblinking eye looks
| STRAIGHT up at the blazing sun. We now
| come to a marshy district, where a lonely
| heron is contemplating it's lovely image in u
| small still pool, and then away we go again
| out into the broad purple patches of newly
upturned SOIL bands of emerald corn, and
| sneckled streaks of tobacco, with its large
| red and green leaves, and on through cool
| Iabyr1ntbs of maize, till We come to vast
| tracts of uncultivated land, where wild horses
| with flying names go scamperins across Its
| surface with all the natural grace of untamed
things AS day advances and the shadows OF
the clouds begin to 1engthen across the
| plains, breeze springs up and plays about
| US softly, rustling the large white, surplice
| like sleeves of the drivers garment, but mol
sufficiently strong to star his black and how-
ing locks which, weighted with some unctu
! GUS matter rest calmly on his shoulders. Oul
nearest town is Veszprim, but at the pace We
are at present going we are scarcely likely to
reach it before nightfall, if then. But whai
| does it matter, when We have the whole oi
to morrow, and the next day, and the day
| after that, ave, and our whole lives, to do tbs
distance in if necessary? How delightful t
! enjoy for once the true feeling of rest IN thl
| world of hurry-scurry, where we are but too
often compelled to live at high pressure
Let. oh let US for once take life easily unde
the broard and peaceful canopy of heaven
and reduce the dolce far niellte to science.