slight sketch of some of its more remarkable characteristics.
The roots of the Magyar are for the most part exceedingly simple and monosyllabic, but their ramifications are numerous, consistent, and beautiful. I know of no language which presents such a variety of elementary stamina, and none which lends itself so easily and gracefully to all the modifications growing out of its simple principles. These modifications are almost always postfixed, and invariably they harmonize with the preceding part of the word.
The accent is not necessarily on the root of a word, which in verbs is to be sought in the third person singular of the present tense. The analogy between words and things is very striking and not only extends to objects with which sound is associated, but sometimes is observable even to the eye. Dörög (it thunders) affects the ear; villám (it lightens) has an obvious propriety even in the appearance of the words. Many noises are admirably represented by the words which convey the idea; as, forr (it boils), tör (it breaks), cseng (it rings), peng (it rings, i. e. speaking of coins), hang (sound). No eight monosyllables in any language could convey a more complete image of the horrors of war than does Kisfaludy's verse:
