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KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



enjoy a good merry laugh. Owls kill 

 humming-birds ! 



[Oh, Fanny ! What would we give for a 

 week's ramble with thee ! We would never 

 again resume the editorial pen, — never !] 



THE WISH. 



Oh, would some cottage home were mine, 



How blest the hours would glide ! 

 Life then would seem a thing divine 



With thee, Sweet, by my side : — 

 With not a wish but thee to bless, 



Where'er thy steps might move, 

 My only care thy happiness — 



My only wealth — thy love ! 



I'd think no roses sweeter born 



Than on thy cheeks I view ; 

 I'd ask not for more Heavenly morn 



Than thy dear eyes of blue : 

 No bird that sings this world below 



I'd think could thee eclipse ; 

 For all that's sweet, is doubly so 



When coming from thy lips. 



True wealth is in the heart alone, 



Its coin like music rings : 

 It cometh from a brighter throne 



Than any earthly king's ! 

 We're poor — but we could live on less, 



And still some comfort win ; 

 When true Love shares one's humbleness 



An Angel dwells therein ! 



C. Swain. 



SOCIAL LIFE IN HUNGARY. 



VINTAGE FESTIVITIES. 

 BY EMERIC SZABAD. 



The Vine-mountains in Hungary, 

 besides the precious harvest they yield, 

 greatly tend to the completion of the general 

 scenery, sharply outlined in the long, lofty 

 mountain-ranges, contrasted with the no less 

 imposing character of the boundless plains 

 which, extending along the shores of the 

 Danube, the Theiss, and the Maros, now 

 present a black soil, — yielding rich crops 

 without any stimulus of manure ; then barren 

 steppes, covered over with quicksands. The 

 noblest of wines — the tokay, flows from the 

 bosom of the southern Carpathian mountain- 

 range. 



Vine-hills of an inferior quality, called 

 Ermeleck, arise in defiance of the sandy 

 plains of Debreczin ; while a superior sort of 

 grapes, called the badacson, though not to be 

 compared to the menes of the Arad county, 

 cover the hills of Szalad, spreading their 

 odorousness to the deep oaky Bakony wood, 

 the happy home of the swine. The vine, in 

 short, flourishes in every part of the country; 

 including the barren soil of Croatia, and the 

 base of the snowy mountains of Transylvania. 

 Some of these bounteous hills yield, in ex- 



ception to the general rule, a red liquid. 

 The best of the red wines flows from the 

 mountains of Bada and Erlau — there most 

 blood was shed in former days. A strange 

 sort of industrial occupation is the vintage 

 in Hungary ! As different from what is 

 called in Britain, industry, as is the fresh 

 look of the vine-dresser from the ghastly 

 face of a factory workman. A very small 

 portion of this vast quantity of wine passes 

 into other hands for money — few cultivate 

 it for the sake of sale ; and there is scarcely 

 a single nobleman of moderate fortune, if not 

 possessed of vast vineyards, who, in this 

 occupation, ever rises to that pitch of mental 

 speculation where capital and interest sit in 

 judgment over the doings of man. In 

 Hungary, the vintage is the bearer only of 

 concord and of joy. The days of this fes- 

 tivity generally commence at the beginning 

 of September, and continue till the last days 

 of October, when frosty weather is ushered 

 in. 



The circumstance of the vineyards being, 

 for the most part, at considerable distances 

 from the residences of their owners, serves 

 much to increase the bustle, activity, and 

 ceremonies inaugurating this annual festival. 

 A day or two before the landlord himself, and 

 family, depart for the scene of action, are 

 sent the carriages, laden with the necessary 

 tubs, casks, and butts ; these are simulta- 

 neously, from all directions of the same neigh- 

 borhood, set in motion. They move on at 

 a slow pace, in solemn procession, amid the 

 peculiar strain of music arising from the 

 knocking on each other of the empty vessels 

 huddled together by the arbitrary will of 

 man — a music which is much encouraged 

 by the capriciousness of the roads. The 

 carrying of these significant types is gen- 

 erally intrusted to the meek, slow-paced 

 oxen ; a caution rendered the more necessary, 

 as among or within these wooden utensils 

 are packed the earthen, and no less impor- 

 tant, cooking instruments — the guardianship 

 of which is always delegated to the cookmaid, 

 the most conspicuous figure in the van. 



With a clean white kerchief covering her 

 long back, the cook takes her seat in the 

 centre of the carriage ; holding in her hands 

 a fryingpan or a ladle, of primary impor- 

 tance as the insignia of her power. W T hile 

 the van is thus moving on, the master 

 of the feast in the meantime awaits the 

 arrival of the friends he has invited ; 

 then briskly follows, either the same day or 

 the day after, though always stopping on 

 the road in quest of new guests. Arriving 

 at the spot, he finds in the little cottage at 

 the foot of the vineyard, and consisting of 

 two or three small apartments, everything in 

 order; and the large oblong table covered. 

 At daybreak after his arrival the work begins. 



