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The Seven Thunders
And The Gathering
Bernard Palfrey
God made a covenant with the nation of Israel when He promised
blessings if they faithfully lived in harmony with the Ten Commandments,
but the result of disobedience would lead to a curse. The same rules apply
today in relation to spiritual Israel (Christians). Activated by His Spirit the
law of God forms a hedge of protection against evil that leads to
consequential blessings that are associated with living in harmony with the
law of the Decalogue.
The following chapters reveal the consequence of the curse that overtook
literal Israel. They also reveal the blessings of the gathering that await the
nation of spiritual Israel.
However, to partake of these blessings it is necessary to be aware that
the time of probation for the human race is rapidly drawing to its close, and
that God has a message for His people to prepare them for the final conflict
that it is to take place between Chris and Satan as revealed in the following
pages.
Being related to God’s plan of salvation makes every message in the
Bible important. As the time of probation is drawing rapidly to its close,
God’s great plan is reaching fulfilment. This makes the truth that is relevant
to this time of particular significance.
The message of this book as revealed in the word of God indicates that
the return of Jesus is very close. Now is the time of decision. Tomorrow
could be too late.
Contents
Prophecy 2
Chapter 1 Prophetic time scale 4
Chapter 2 Cleansing of the Sanctuary 12
Chapter 3 Saints Judged after 2,300 days 19
Chapter 4 The 2,520 Curse 23
Chapter 5 The Two Witnesses 35
Chapter 6 Sunday Law 42
Chapter 7 The Seven Thunders 61
Chapter 8 The Fig Tree 68
Chapter 9 The Glorious Land 72
Chapter 10 Final Proclamation 78
Chapter 11 Belief and Faith 82
Chapter 12 This Generation 89
Chapter 13 The True Sabbath 94
Chapter 14 The Second Covenant 106
Chapter 15 End Time Apostasy 116
Chapter 16 Jesus Says 120
Chapter 17 Law 124
Chapter 18 Perfection 127
Chapter 19 144,000 The True Remnant 137
Chapter 20 The 12 loaves of shewbread 148
Burdened by sin 154
Chapter 1 Prophetic time scale
Language: English
THE
Little Cousin Series
(TRADE MARK)
LIST OF TITLES
Illustrated by
John Goss
Boston
L. C. Page & Company
MDCCCCIX
Copyright, 1909
By L. C. Page & Company
(INCORPORATED)
To
Philip Henry de Roulet
Preface
A part of the great Austrian Empire, Hungary, is a kingdom in
itself, with its own laws and its own government. Through this land
runs the "beautiful blue Danube," with castles and towns upon its
wooded banks; on one side the mountains, on the other the Great
Plains.
Here dwell many races with quaint customs and quainter
costumes, and it is of these people that you will read in Our Little
Hungarian Cousin.
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
I.With the Tziganes 1
II. Along the Gypsy Trail 11
III.At the Gulyas' Hut 27
IV. Deserted! 39
V. The Fair of Harom-Szölöhoz 55
VI. Village Life 71
VII. The Unexpected 83
VIII. Marushka Makes a Journey 106
IX. "Oh, the Eyes of My Mother!" 123
List of Illustrations
PAGE
"He . . . quickly began a little tune" (See page 66) Frontispiece
"Searched through Banda Bela with a keen glance" 7
Washing in the River 59
"'Who is this child?' demanded the Baroness" 82
"First came Marushka" 92
"'Across the river you see Buda,' said the Baroness" 115
Our Little Hungarian
Cousin
CHAPTER I
WITH THE TZIGANES
Banda Bela, the little Gypsy boy, had tramped all day through the
hills, until, footsore, weary, and discouraged, he was ready to throw
himself down to sleep. He was very hungry, too.
"I shall go to the next hilltop and perhaps there is a road, and
some passerby will throw me a crust. If not, I can feed upon my
music and sleep," he thought to himself, as he clambered through
the bushes to the top of the hill. There he stood, his old violin held
tight in his scrawny hand, his ragged little figure silhouetted against
the sky.
Through the central part of Hungary flows in rippling beauty the
great river of the Danube. Near to Kecskés the river makes a sudden
bend, the hills grow sharper in outline, while to the south and west
sweep the great grass plains.
Before Banda Bela, like a soft green sea, the Magyar plain
stretched away until it joined the horizon in a dim line. Its green
seas of grain were cut only by the tall poplar trees which stood like
sentinels against the sky. Beside these was pitched a Gypsy camp,
its few tents and huts huddled together, looking dreary and forlorn in
the dim twilight. The little hovels were built of bricks and stones and
a bit of thatch, carelessly built to remain only until the wander spirit
rose again in their breasts and the Gypsies went forth to roam the
green velvet plain, or float down the Danube in their battered old
boats, lazily happy in the sun.
In front of the largest hut was the fire-pot, slung from a pole over
a fire of sticks burning brightly. The Gypsies were gathered about
the fire for their evening meal, and the scent of goulash came from
the kettle. Banda Bela could hardly stand from faintness, but he
raised his violin to his wizened chin and struck a long chord. As the
fine tone of the old violin smote the night air, the Gypsies ceased
talking and looked up. Unconscious of their scrutiny, the boy played
a czardas, weird and strange. At first there was a cool, sad strain like
the night song of some bird, full of the gentle sadness of those
without a home, without friends, yet not without kindness; then the
time changed, grew quicker and quicker until it seemed as if the old
violin danced itself, so full of wild Gypsy melody were its strains.
Fuller and fuller they rose; the bow in the boy's fingers seeming to
skim like a bird over the strings. The music, full of wild longing,
swelled until its voice rose like the wild scream of some forest
creature, then crashed to a full stop. The violin dropped to the boy's
side, his eyes closed, and he fell heavily to the ground.
When Banda Bela opened his eyes he found himself lying upon
the ground beside the Gypsy fire, his head upon a bundle of rags.
The first thing his eyes fell upon was a little girl about six years old,
who was trying to put into his mouth a bit of bread soaked in gravy.
The child was dressed only in a calico frock, her head was
uncovered, her hair, not straight and black like that of the other
children who swarmed about, but light as corn silk, hung loosely
about her face. Her skin was as dark as sun and wind make the
Tziganes, but the eyes which looked into his with a gentle pity were
large and deep and blue.
"Who are you?" he asked, half conscious.
"Marushka," she answered simply. "What is your name?"
"Banda Bela," he said faintly.
"Why do you play like the summer rain on the tent?" she
demanded.
"Because the rain is from heaven on all the Tziganes, and it is
good, whether one lies snug within the tent or lifts the face to the
drops upon the heath."
"I like you, Banda Bela," said little Marushka. "Stay with us!"
"That is as your mother wills," said Banda Bela, sitting up.
"I have no mother, though her picture I wear always upon my
breast," she said. "But I will ask old Jarnik, for all he says the others
do," and she sped away to an old Gypsy, whose gray hair hung in
matted locks upon his shoulders. In a moment she was back again,
skimming like a bird across the grass.
"Jarnik says you are to eat, for hunger tells no true tale," she
said.
"I am glad to eat, but I speak truth," said Banda Bela calmly.
He ate from the fire-pot hungrily, dipping the crust she gave him
into the stew and scooping up bits of meat and beans.
"I am filled," he said at length. "I will speak with Jarnik."
Marushka danced across the grass in front of him like a little will-
o'-the-wisp, her fair locks floating in the breeze, in the half light her
eyes shining like the stars which already twinkled in the Hungarian
sky.
The Gypsy dogs bayed at the moon, hanging like a crescent over
the crest of the hill and silvering all with its calm radiance. Millions of
fireflies flitted over the plain, and the scent of the ripened grain was
fresh upon the wind.
Banda Bela sniffed the rich, earthy smell, the kiss of the wind was
kind upon his brow; he was fed and warm.
"Life is sweet," he murmured. "In the Gypsy camp is brother
kindness. If they will have me, I will stay."
Old Jarnik had eyes like needles. They searched through Banda
Bela with a keen glance and seemed to pierce his heart.
"The Gypsy
camp has welcome
for the stranger," he
said at length. "Will
you stay?"
"You ask me
nothing," said
Banda Bela, half
surprised, half
fearing, yet raising
brave eyes to the
stern old face.
"I have nothing
to ask," said old
Jarnik. "All I wish to
know you have told
me."
"But I have said
nothing," said
Banda Bela.
"Your face to me
lies open as the
summer sky. Its
lines I scan. They
"SEARCHED THROUGH BANDA BELA WITH A
tell me of hunger,
KEEN GLANCE."
of weariness and
loneliness, things of
the wild. Nothing is there of the city's evil. You may stay with us and
know hunger no longer. This one has asked for you," and the old
man laid his hand tenderly upon little Marushka's head. "You are
hers, your only care to see that no harm comes to these lint locks.
The child is dear to me. Will you stay?"
"I will stay," said Banda Bela, "and I will care for the child as for
my sister. But first I will speak, since I have nothing to keep locked."
"Speak, then," said the old man. Though his face was stern,
almost fierce, there was a gentle dignity about him and the boy's
heart warmed to him.
"Of myself I will tell you all I know," he said. "I am Banda Bela,
son of Šafařik, dead with my mother. When the camp fell with the
great red sickness[1] I alone escaped. Then was I ten years old. Now
I am fourteen. Since then I have wandered, playing for a crust,
eating seldom, sleeping beneath the stars, my clothes the gift of
passing kindness. Only my violin I kept safe, for my father had said
it held always life within its strings. 'Not only food, boy,' he said, 'but
joy and comfort and thoughts of things which count for more than
bread.' So I lived with it, my only friend. Now I have two more, you
—" he flashed a swift glance at the old man, "and this little one. I
will serve you well."
"You are welcome," said old Jarnik, simply. "Now, go to sleep."
Little Marushka, who had been listening to all that had been said,
slipped her hand in his and led him away to the boys' tent. She did
not walk, but holding one foot in her hand, she hopped along like a
gay little bird, chattering merrily.
"I like you, Banda Bela, you shall stay."
FOOTNOTE:
[1] Smallpox.
CHAPTER II
ALONG THE GYPSY TRAIL
Banda Bela found life in the Gypsy camp quiet, but not unpleasant.
He had a place to sleep and food to eat. Jarnik was good to him and
Marushka his devoted friend. Rosa, a young and very pretty Gypsy
girl, was kind to the waif, and the rest of the tribe paid no attention
to him. What was one ragged boy, more or less, to them? The camp
fairly swarmed with them.
Since the Tziganes had crossed the mountains from India many
hundred years ago, they had wandered about Hungary, and the
Gypsies to whom Banda Bela had come were of the Gletecore, or
wandering Gypsies, a better race than the Kortoran who dwell in
mud huts or caves near the villages.
The Gletecore are never still. They wander from one end of
Hungary to the other, playing their music, begging, stealing,
sometimes carving little utensils out of wood, or tinkering for the
living which seems to come to them easily, perhaps because they
want but little.
There was little that Banda Bela could do, but he waited upon old
Jarnik, ran errands, watched Marushka, and caught many a fine fish
from the river for the fire-pot. The Danube was full of fish, delicious
in flavour.
Always the little boy could make music, and his violin charmed
many an hour for him, while Marushka, ever following at his heels
like a little dog, learned to love his music scarcely less than he did.
One morning Marushka wakened Banda Bela by calling loudly:
"Banda Bela! Come! The sun is up. Stepan has come back, and
they move the camp to-day!"
Banda Bela sprang to his feet and hurried out of the tent. Already
there were signs of stir in the camp. Stepan, a young Gypsy chief,
was standing beside the cart which was being loaded with camp
utensils. Banda Bela had not seen him before, for the chief had been
away from the band ever since the boy came.
Stepan was six feet tall; part of his coal-black hair was braided
into a tight knob over his forehead, the rest hung down in matted,
oily locks upon his shoulders. In his mouth was a long Weixel-wood
pipe, and he wore a loose, white, cotton shirt gathered around the
neck, and baggy white trousers. He was very handsome and his
copper-coloured skin shone as if it was polished. All about him
swarmed children and dogs, while the older Gypsies were packing up
the camp effects and loading them into the two or three carts, which
patient horses stood ready to draw.
"Eat quickly," cried Marushka. "There is but a crust left, I saved it
for you. We go on the road to-day, and hunger will gnaw your
stomach before we camp again." Banda Bela took the food, ate it
hurriedly, and ran up to Stepan.
"Let me help," he said briefly.
"Who are you and what can you do?" the young chief looked him
over keenly.
"I am Banda Bela. I can make music with my violin, swing an
adze, cut bowls from wood, drive a horse, row a boat, catch fish, do
as I am bid, and keep my tongue silent," he said.
"If you can do the last two things you have already learned
much," said Stepan. "Go and help Jarnik load, for he is old and feels
himself young."
Banda Bela nodded and went over to where the old man was
loading one of the carts. He helped as best he could and soon the
wagons were loaded and the camp deserted. The Gypsies had taken
the road. It was a beautiful day. The wind blew cool and free from
the river, which swept along at the foot of wooded heights, gleaming
like glass in the morning sun. Ducks splashed in the water, and now
and then Banda Bela saw the waters boil and bubble. Something
black would flash above the surface, there would be a splash and a
swirl of waters, and the radiating ripples reached the shore as a
great fish would spring into the air, flash in the sunlight, and sink
into the waters again.
Steamers passed down the stream on their way to Buda-Pest, or
towing huge barges filled with the peasants' teams and wagons,
loaded with grain to be ground at the quaint water mills, built on
piles out in the stream where the current was so strong as to turn
the huge wheels quickly and grind the grain, raised on the great
plains of the south. To the north the mountains rose blue and
beautiful. The boy saw all. His eyes shone; his cheek was flushed.
"Good is the Gypsy trail," he said to himself. "Sun, light, and wind,
all free, and I am with mine own people. Life is sweet."
All day long the carts rumbled along. When the sun was high
overhead the Gypsies rested beside the river. Banda Bela caught
some fish, and Rosa cooked them for supper.
Next day they turned from the river and travelled over the plains.
There was no shade. To the right stretched great fields of maize and
flax. The dust was white and fine, and so hot it seemed almost to
prick their faces like needles. It rose in white clouds around the carts
and followed them in whirling columns.
In front of them from time to time other clouds of dust arose,
which, upon nearing, they discovered to be peasant carts, driven
with four or six horses, for the peasants in this part of Hungary are
rich and prosperous. The soil is fertile and yields wonderful crops,
though for ninety years it has had no rest, but the peasants are not
tempted to laziness by the ease with which things grow. They begin
their day's work at three o'clock in the morning and work until eight
or nine at night, eating their luncheon and supper in the fields.
Banda Bela saw many of them, fine, tall fellows, working easily
and well, but in his heart he was glad that he did not have to toil
under the hot sun.
Shepherds were seated here and there in the fields, looking like
small huts, for they wore queer conical bundas which covered them
from their necks to their knees. These sheepskin coats are worn
both winter and summer, for the shepherds say they keep out heat
as well as cold.
The shepherds must watch the flocks by day and night, and when
the weather is wet they sleep sitting on small round stools to keep
them from the damp ground. Toward dark the Gypsy band halted by
the roadside, near to a group of shepherds' huts. Here they were to
stop for the night and Banda Bela was glad, for his legs ached with
fatigue. He had walked nearly all day except for a short time when
Marushka had asked to have him ride in the cart and play for her.
The shepherds greeted the Tziganes kindly. Jews and Armenians
the Hungarians dislike, but for the Gypsies there is a fellow feeling,
for all Hungarians love music and nearly all Tziganes have music at
their fingers' ends and in their velvet voices.
The Gypsies pitched their tents and Banda Bela stole aside from
the camp to play his beloved violin. He tuned it and then gently ran
his bow up and down the strings and began a soft little melody. It
was like the crooning song of a young mother to her child. The boy
was a genius, playing with wonderful correctness and with a love for
music which showed in every note he sounded. The shepherds
paused in preparing their evening meal and listened. When he
ceased playing they called to him, "If you will play more you may eat
with us."
"I will play gladly, and gladly will I eat," he answered, showing in
a gleaming smile his teeth, even and white as a puppy's. In the
pockets of the shepherds' coats were stored all manner of good
things, bacon, black bread, and wine, even slivowitz, the wonderfully
good Hungarian brandy, which Banda Bela had tasted only once in
his life, but which the Gypsies make to perfection.
The shepherds' camp had a one-roomed, straw-thatched hut,
which they used as a storehouse for their coats and extra food
supplies. A great well was in front of the hut. It had a huge beam of
wood with a cross-piece at the top and from this hung a bucket. The
boy drew up a bucketful of the water and found it deliciously cold.
Near the camp was the shepherds' cooking hut, made of reeds
tied together and with a hole in the top for the escape of the smoke.
The hut looked like a corn shock with a door in one side. This door
was open and Banda Bela saw a fire burning brightly, a pot hung
over the embers, and a smell of kasa arose, as a tall shepherd
tossed the meal and bacon into a kind of cake.
Marushka had strayed away from the Gypsies and now stood
beside Banda Bela shyly watching the cooking in silence. She was a
quiet little thing, with her golden hair unlike the bold, black-eyed
little Gypsy children who rolled around the ground, half clad,
snatching food from the pot and gnawing bones like hungry dogs.
"Who is this child?" asked one of the shepherds. "She is no Gypsy.
What is your name, child?"
"I am Marushka," she answered sweetly. "Who are you?"
"I am a shepherd," he said, smiling at her.
"Do you tend sheep all day?" she demanded.
"No, once I was one of the juhasz,[2] but now I am past that. I
am one of the gulyas,[3] and in another year I shall be among the
csikos."[4]
"Where are your oxen?" asked Marushka.
"There in the plain," he said, pointing to what looked like a great,
still, white sea some distance away. As he spoke the sea seemed to
break into waves, first rippling, then stormy, as the oxen rose to
their feet, many of them tossing their heads in the air and bellowing
loudly. They were immense creatures, perfectly white and very
beautiful, with great dark eyes and intelligent faces.
"There are my children," said the shepherd. "But I am afraid there
is a wind storm coming, for they show fear only of storm or fire." He
watched the herd for a few moments, but though they snuffed the
air they finally settled down quietly to rest again.
"Let us eat," said the shepherd. "Perhaps the storm has passed
over."
How good the kasa tasted. The little Tziganes had never eaten it
before, and they enjoyed it thoroughly.
The sun was sinking in the west, and the yellow fields of grain
were gleaming as if tipped with gold. Dusk deepened, stars peeped
out of the violet heavens. Here and there leaped sudden flame, as
some shepherd, feeling lonely, signalled thus to a friend across the
plain. Mists rose white and ghost-like; the land seemed turned to
silver. The tired children turned to seek their camp to sleep when—
"Lie down!" cried one of the shepherds. "Lie flat on your faces
and do not stir! A storm comes!" So urgent was the call that Banda
Bela dropped at once flat upon the grass, grasping Marushka's hand
and pulling her down beside him.
"Don't be afraid," he said. "Only lie still and the storm will pass
above us." She lay like a little frightened bird, trembling and
quivering, but saying nothing. The great wind broke over them with
a swirl as of fierce waters. It whistled and screamed, blowing with it
a fine white dust, then as quickly as it had come it passed, and all
was still. Banda Bela raised his head and looked around him. The
wind had died down as suddenly as it had sprung up and the plain
was so still that not even the grasses stirred. Their shepherd friends
rose from the ground where they too had thrown themselves, and
one of them called to the children to come back.
"Are you safe?" he asked.
"Oh, yes," said Banda Bela.
"I was frightened, but Banda Bela held my hand," said little
Marushka. "Now I am very thirsty."
"The dust and wind always cause great thirst," said the herder.
"But no one need be thirsty in the 'Land of a Thousand Springs!'
Here is water cool and fresh in the great well, and a little sweet,
white wine. Drink and then run quickly away to sleep, for it is late
for small men and women."
"What are those giant things which stand so dark against the sky?
They frighten me," cried Marushka, as she clung to Banda Bela and
looked behind the shepherds' huts.
"Only mighty haystacks, little one. Enough hay is there to last
twenty regiments of soldiers fifty years, so that our cattle need
never go hungry. Go now. To-morrow you camp here and I will show
you many things."
"Would that those children were mine," he said to himself as the
two ran away to the camp. "The boy I like, he is clean and straight,
and his music stirs my soul; but the little girl reaches my very heart."
FOOTNOTES:
[2] Swine-herd.
[3] Ox-herd.
[4] Horse-herd.
CHAPTER III
AT THE GULYAS' HUT
From the Gypsy camp came sounds of wailing. Loud and long the
howls arose and Banda Bela sprang from the ground where he had
spent the night, to see what was the trouble. He found a group of
Gypsies gathered around the door of one of the tents, the women
seated on the ground, rocking back and forth, wailing, while the
men stood in stolid silence. Then Marushka stole timidly to his side
and whispered, "Oh, Banda Bela, old Jarnik is dead. He died in the
night." The child's eyes were red with weeping. "They did not know
it till the morning. Poor old Jarnik! He was so good and kind!"
Banda Bela looked anxious. Waif and stray that he was he had
grown quickly to know his friends from his enemies. Jarnik had been
his friend. Now that he was gone would the other Gypsies befriend
him? The lonely boy had learned to love little Marushka and hated
the thought of leaving her, but he felt that without Jarnik he would
not long be welcome in the Gypsy camp. Silently he took the child by
the hand and led her away from the wailing crowd of Gypsies.
"We can do no good there, little one," he said. "Come with me. I
have a bit of bread from yesterday." Marushka's sobs grew less as
he seated her by the roadside and gave her bits of bread to eat.
"Do not cry, little one," he said gently. "Jarnik was old and tired
and now he is resting. You must be all mine to care for now. I shall
ask Stepan to give you to me." He thought over the last talk he had
had with Jarnik.
"Take care of the little one," the old man had said. "She has no
one here in all the tribe. She is not a Gypsy, Banda Bela. We found
her one day beneath a tall poplar tree beside the road, far, far from
here. She could scarcely speak, only lisp her name, ask for 'Mother,'
and scold of 'bad Yda.' She was dressed in pretty white clothes and
we knew she was the child of rich persons. My daughter had just
lost her baby and she begged for the child, so we took her with us.
The Gypsies say she will bring bad luck to the tribe, for people say
she is stolen, so you must care well for her. There are those in the
tribe who wish her ill."
Banda Bela remembered this, and thought how he could protect
the little girl from harm. Childlike, her tears soon dry, Maruskha
prattled about the sunshine and the sky. As they sat, a huge cloud of
dust came down the road. Nearing them, it showed a peasant cart
drawn by five fine horses, and in it sat a large peasant woman,
broad-bosomed and kindly faced. She smiled as the children stared
up at her, and the cart rumbled on and stopped at the shepherds'
huts.
Attracted by the gay harness of the horses, the children wandered
toward them.
"Good morning, little folk," called out their friend of the night
before. "Come and eat again with me. Here is my wife come to
spend a few days with me. She has good things in her pockets."
Marushka went up to the peasant woman and looked into her face
and then climbed into her lap. "I like you," she said, and the
woman's arm went around her.
"Poor little dirty thing!" she exclaimed. "I wish I had her at home,
Emeric, I would wash and dress her in some of Irma's clothes and
she would be as pretty as a wild rose."
"I wash my face every morning," said Marushka, pouting a little.
"The other Gypsy children never do." Her dress was open at the
neck and showed her little white throat, about which was a string,
and the shepherd's wife took hold of it.
"Is it a charm you wear, little one?" she asked.
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