A Hungarian Nabob

CHAPTER I.

AN ODDITY, 1822.

It is nasty, dirty weather outside there on the _puszta_;[1] the sky is cloudy, the earth muddy, the rain has been falling for two weeks incessantly, as if by special command. There are inundations and submersions everywhere; rushes are growing instead of wheat, the stork is ploughing, the duck is fishing all over the precious sea-like expanse. &quo...