Surely there is need (and surely brother
Witness knows it) of a little more diffusion
of education among the clods of the valley
in this country. We want either a national
or a rational education : something which
shall reach the dark corners of the land rather
more effectually than the occasional bull's-eye
of the policeman. Either education or brother
Witness must rule, and the choice lies between
them. We must commit the people to the
care and sympathies of the educated teacher
and the enlightened physician, or they will
commit themselves to brother Witness.  Joe
Smith and brother Witness are the wild
growth of uncultivated intellect, and if we
are not for general education, we are for—
them.

THE WILD-FLOWER OF THE DANUBE

FOR months before the election of a
representative to the Hungarian legislature, all
classes, high and low, wore the chosen badge
of their party, consisting, generally, of a
feather, a ribbon of one of the national
colours, or of a fresh sprig, or flower. It was,
thus, easy to recognise, at the first glance, to
which party a man belonged.

In the county of Nesgrad (that smiling
region, which may well be called the garden
of Hungary), during the election which
immediately preceded our king's last breach of
faith, a badge was chosen, which, from the
poetry of its name, and the beauty of its
form, excited in me a lively curiosity. It was
a plant found in Lower Hungary, more
especially on the banks of the Danube and the
Theiss. On a slender green stem, scantily
decked with leaves, waves a delicately-divided
feathery flower, which for softness and
flexibility can only be compared with ostrich or
marabout plumes.  The soft filaments, which
nestle so gently, and the colour of which can
only be described as flaxen, will partly explain
the peculiar name that the flower bears in
Hungary, namely, "The Orphan Maiden Hair."
Count Joseph Zichy, a young and ardent
member of the Left, had brought great
quantities of this plant (which continues for years
unchanged) from his estates in Lower Hungary
to our upland district, where it will not grow :
he distributed it as the opposition badge at the
election of deputies for the momentous diet of
1847-1848. The flower was so becoming an
ornament, that many ladies whose husbands
or fathers belonged to that party, adorned their
riding-hats with it; a circumstance which,
doubtless, brought over many a youthful
proselyte.

One warm autumn evening, I sat with a
true-hearted peasant family, before their
cottage door.  I was to remain with them
until the following morning, when I expected
to receive a letter which should regulate my
movements.  Father, mother, and children
were stringing the dark golden, or purple
brown, spikes of freshly-gathered Turkish
maize on long pieces of strong twine, in order
to hang them in festoons from the low straw
roof to dry. In the hat of one of the fine
active lads waved a most beautiful " Arva
leány haf " (Orphan Maiden Hair), at least
eighteen inches long. The black-eyed Erzsi
(Elizabeth) observed, with some pride, when
she saw how I admired it, that this flower
was not to be found in our stony Nesgrad;
and, perhaps, nowhere in such perfection as
just here, on the neighbouring banks of the
river. My former curiosity returned, and I
inquired into the origin of its extraordinary
name.

It was only after repeated entreaties that my
hosts, who, at my question, had assumed quite
a solemn air, determined to impart to me the
legend that prevails along the shores of the
Danube concerning this flower. According
to ancient custom, it might only be related
by the grandmother, on the long festive
evenings of the Christmas week. As she,
however, was now ill, the blooming Erzsi,
after assuring us she remembered every
syllable of it, was allowed to take her place.
The full moon, just rising, quivered on the
calm waves of the Danube, and the whole
scene gave a half-saddened tone to my mind,
that well adapted it for the coming legend.

Erzsi began, in a low voice, to relate as
follows:

Not far from here is a large market-town,
which, with other estates in the country,
became the property of a German Count, on
his marriage with the only daughter of a
rich magnate.  After the death of this lady
—who held some office about the person
of the Empress—her husband came from
Vienna to live on the estates, which he
administered during the minority of his two
sons, as their guardian. Great alterations were
now introduced. The old officials and
servants  - most of whom had inherited their
situations from father to son for generations—
were replaced by Austrians. Before long, not
a word of Hungarian was to be heard in the
Castle; the family itself did not understand a
syllable of the language. All judicial
proceedings were transacted in German; none
of the officials had the slightest acquaintance
with our mother-tongue; and, if the poor
peasant brought forward a complaint or a
petition, he was not only unable to make
himself understood, but was even mocked
and insulted on that account. When, thus
wounded in his tenderest feeling (his pride
in our noble language), he appealed to the
Count himself, he gained but a repetition of
the same treatment, only accompanied with
increased scorn. The sole results of every
such attempt was approbation for the officials,
and harsh words, or blows, for the peasant.
Despair fell gradually on the people, like an
endless night, and wore deep furrows in their
haggard faces.