Warlike the Magyar still is, and proud as Lucifer, yet with a strange mingling of Oriental calm. None others are so philosophic as the dwellers in the great plain of Hungary, the Alföld, where they follow their occupations as shepherds or wheat-growers. They take the good with the bad and are resigned to evils they cannot cure. We have already noted the special characteristics of the Alfölder in connection with his boundless home. But others of the nation share some of his qualities. Those who have been most among the Hungarians speak of their simplicity; they are in all things natural. If when at table with them you want more food, you must ask for it; they will not force it on you. It is there; they take for granted that you know they are only too glad for you to have it. If therefore you want it you have only to say so; anything else is affectation. Their hospitality is proverbial and resembles that of the East. Never is any one allowed to pass without being fed or lodged if need be, and however lowly the accommodation there are no pretended apologies; this is the best they have and they give it you, and they don’t consider that it needs any apology. In the words of another traveller, “You are made to feel that your presence among them is a genuine piece of good luck.” Though much alive and of an artistic and musical temperament, and ready to go half-mad when worked up in the national dance, the _csardas_, the Magyar is generally quiet and philosophic. Dancing is the favourite pastime all over the land, and every man, woman, and child can dance to admiration. Men and women both marry young, and the unmarried of either sex are almost unknown; marriage is as natural and universal an act as birth or death. Like all proud high-spirited races, who allow for other people’s dignity as well as their own, the Magyars have excellent natural manners; it has been said of them that they are a nation of gentlemen. A very strange being indeed is the Magyar peasant, mysterious as his country’s history; he has sympathy with gloom and melancholy reveries, and is fond of brooding in a seeming lethargy when his heart is ready to kindle with all the fire of a crusader. When free from his daily labour, in his happiest moments, he is marked by sudden transitions. Apparently happy, he quickly becomes sad, soon to burst forth into exultation, only to plunge again into grief, which always marks the end of his frolicsome episodes. He is not easy to cheer by incitements which put heart into other people, for he does not readily respond to this sort of thing. There is a saying that the “Hungarian enjoys life with weeping eyes,” just as the Britishers are supposed to take their pleasures sadly, and it is true that a vein of melancholy runs through the folk-songs and ballads of Hungary. The gipsy who wants to rouse the Hungarian peasant has to begin plaintively and rise into gaiety if he wishes to catch his attention.