vividness which R. L. Stevenson prized so highly, and the ingenuity of
its plot, the dramatic force of its episodes, and the startling
unexpectedness of its _dénouement_ are all in the Hungarian master's
most characteristic style. I know of no more stirring incident in
contemporary fiction than the terrible wrestling match between strong
Juon the goatherd and the supple bandit Fatia Negra in the presence of
two trembling, defenceless women, who can do nothing but look on, though
their fate depends upon the issue of the struggle,--and we must go back
to the pages of that unsurpassed master of the weird and thrilling
Sheridan Le Fanu to find anything approaching the terror of poor
Henrietta's awful midnight vigil in the deserted _csárda_ upon the
lonely heath when, at the very advent of her mysterious peril, she
discovers, to her horror, that her sole companion and guardian, the
brave old squire, cannot be aroused from his drugged slumbers.

There is naturally not so much scope for the display of Jókai's peculiar
and delightful humour, in a novel of incident like the present tale as
there is in that fine novel of manners: "A Hungarian Nabob." Yet even in
"Szegény Gazdagok," many of the minor characters (e.g., the parasite
Margari, the old miser Demetrius, the Hungarian Miggs, Clementina, the
frivolous Countess Kengyelesy), are not without a mild Dickensian
flavour, while in that rugged but good-natured and chivalrous Nimrod,
Mr. Gerzson, the Hungarian novelist has drawn to the life one of the
finest types we possess of the better sort of sporting Magyar squires.

Finally, this fascinating story possesses in an eminent degree the charm
of freshness and novelty, a charm becoming rarer every year in these
globe-trotting days, when the ubiquitous tourist boasts that he has
been everywhere and seen everything. Yet it may well be doubted whether
even he has penetrated to the heart of the wild, romantic, sylvan