Photo by A. W. Cutler 

 SLOVAK MARRIAGE: TJIt HAPPY COUPLE; WERF, ON THl^ POINT OF GOING TO THE'l 



CHURCH FOR THE CFR^MONY 



The girl on the left and the two on the right are the bridesmaids, each wearing many 



petticoats 



tinies not his own. Whilst he hves he is a 

 demigod, and when he dies thousands go 

 out to attend him as they did the primas 

 Munczi, who left a million in money and 

 a memory lasting as memories go. 



As for the peasant, one thing only can 

 come between him and his gaieties. On 

 Sunday morning, with no trace of the 

 glorious carouse, but with every trace of 

 deep and still reverence, he listens to the 

 man of God — a simple priest who could 

 have walked out of the pages of Gold- 

 smith's "loveliest village of the plain" — 

 listens, with a full sense of the reality 

 of things, humbly, penitently, to the fath- 

 erly, reproving voice, and in the after- 

 noon forgets. 



BUDAPEST THE BEAUTlEUE 



"O, thou art fairer than the evening air. 

 Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars." 



A moon serene, untroubled, set in the 

 steadfast blue ; stars fainting in a clear 



sky ; the steady flow of the broad river ; 

 lights, shadows, and — save for the tinkle 

 of tram-bells and the sound of water, the 

 wash of some passing ship, softly "lap- 

 ping on the crag" — silence. It is such a 

 night as Byron would have loved. 



Dark against the background and clear 

 rise those hills whence, centuries ago, the 

 Pagan Magyar hurled his martyr saint 

 into the great river. 



"Falls the red sunbeam on the Hills of Buda, 

 Light of the Kings that dwelt of old in Asia 

 And drew the rude Te Deums of the Magyar. 



Old, old, and ever old, the Hills of Buda, 

 Clear as the crystal justice of dead Matyas, 

 Brooding upon the lovely land of Arpad. 



The spirits of dead yesterdays breathe o'er 



them, 

 Phantoms of worlds that have been, songs 



elusive. 

 There where the Gods dwelt — on the Hills of 



Buda." 



346 



