Hungarian.  The great men of my country!  I have only told you of the—­ Well, I acknowledge that Almus and Arpad were great men, but Hungary has produced many greater; I will not trouble you by recapitulating all, but there is one name I cannot forbear mentioning—­but you have heard of it—­even at Horncastle, the name of Hunyadi must be familiar.

Myself.  It may be so, though I rather doubt it; but, however that may be, I confess my ignorance.  I have never, until this moment, heard the name of Hunyadi.

Hungarian.  Not of Hunyadi Janos, not of Hunyadi John—­for the genius of our language compels us to put a man’s Christian name after his other; perhaps you have heard of the name of Corvinus?

Myself.  Yes, I have heard the name of Corvinus.

Hungarian.  By my God, I am glad of it; I thought our hammer of destruction, our thunderbolt, whom the Greeks called Achilles, must be known to the people of Horncastle.  Well, Hunyadi and Corvinus are the same.

Myself.  Corvinus means the man of the crow, or raven.  I suppose that your John, when a boy, climbed up to a crow or a raven’s nest, and stole the young; a bold feat, well befitting a young hero.

Hungarian.  By Isten, you are an acute guesser; a robbery there was, but it was not Hunyadi who robbed the raven, but the raven who robbed Hunyadi.

Myself.  How was that?

Hungarian.  In this manner:  Hunyadi, according to tradition, was the son of King Sigmond, by a peasant’s daughter.  The king saw and fell in love with her, whilst marching against the vaivode of Wallachia.  He had some difficulty in persuading her to consent to his wishes, and she only yielded at last, on the king making her a solemn promise that, in the event of her becoming with child by him, he would handsomely provide for her and the infant.  The king proceeded on his expedition; and on his returning in triumph from Wallachia, again saw the girl, who informed him that she was enceinte by him; the king was delighted with the intelligence, gave the girl money, and at the same time a ring, requesting her, if she brought forth a son, to bring the ring to Buda with the child, and present it to him.  When her time was up, the peasant’s daughter brought forth a fair son, who was baptized by the name of John.  After some time the young woman communicated the whole affair to her elder brother, whose name was Gaspar, and begged him to convey her and the child to the king at Buda.  The brother consented, and both set out, taking the child with them.  On their way, the woman, wanting to wash her clothes, laid the child down, giving it the king’s ring to play with.  A raven, who saw the glittering ring, came flying, and plucking it out of the child’s hand, carried it up into a tree; the child suddenly began to cry, and the mother, hearing it, left her washing, and running to the child, forthwith missed the ring, but hearing the raven croak