“A small town situated on the Tyzza, a rapid river descending from the north; the Tokay Mountain is just behind the town, which stands on the right bank.  The top of the mountain is called Kopacs Teto, or the bald tip; the hill is so steep that during thunder-storms pieces frequently fall down upon the roofs of the houses.  It was planted with vines by King Lajos, who ascended the throne in 1342.  The best wine called Tokay is, however, not made at Tokay, but at Kassau, two leagues farther into the Carpathians, of which Tokay is a spur.  If you wish to drink the best Tokay, you must go to Vienna, to which place all the prime is sent.  For the third time I ask you, O young man of Horncastle! why does your Government always send fools to represent it at Vienna?”

“And for the third time I tell you, O son of Almus! that I cannot say; perhaps, however, to drink the sweet Tokay wine; fools, you know, always like sweet things.”

“Good,” said the Hungarian; “it must be so, and when I return to Hungary, I will state to my countrymen your explanation of a circumstance which has frequently caused them great perplexity.  Oh! the English are a clever people, and have a deep meaning in all they do.  What a vision of deep policy opens itself to my view! they do not send their fool to Vienna in order to gape at processions, and to bow and scrape at a base Papist court, but to drink at the great dinners the celebrated Tokay of Hungary, which the Hungarians, though they do not drink it, are very proud of, and by doing so to intimate the sympathy which the English entertain for their fellow religionists of Hungary.  Oh! the English are a deep people.”

CHAPTER XL

The Horncastle Welcome—­Tzernebock and Bielebock.

The pipe of the Hungarian had, for some time past, exhibited considerable symptoms of exhaustion, little or no ruttling having been heard in the tube, and scarcely a particle of smoke, drawn through the syphon, having been emitted from the lips of the possessor.  He now rose from his seat, and going to a corner of the room, placed his pipe against the wall, then striding up and down the room, he cracked his fingers several times, exclaiming, in a half-musing manner, “Oh, the deep nation, which, in order to display its sympathy for Hungary, sends its fool to Vienna, to drink the sweet wine of Tokay!”

The jockey, having looked for some time at the tall figure with evident approbation, winked at me with that brilliant eye of his on which there was no speck, saying, “’Did you ever see a taller fellow?”

“Never,” said I.

“Or a finer?”

“That’s another question,” said I, “which I am not so willing to answer; however, as I am fond of truth, and scorn to flatter, I will take the liberty of saying that I have seen a finer.”

“A finer! where?” said the jockey; whilst the Hungarian, who appeared to understand what we said, stood still, and looked full at me.