Old Esaias Tengelyi continued meanwhile in his life of tranquillity and contentment. His humble dwelling grew still more quiet when his son left it; and the grey-headed pastor walked lonely among the fruit-trees of his garden, where he formerly used to watch the gambols of his child; but the serenity of his mind was still the same. His life passed away like the course of a gentle stream which mixes with the ocean. Esaias was aware that his days were numbered; but there was nothing appalling in the thought. He was at peace with God and the world; and though he grieved to leave his son, his soul yearned for her that had left him. His last remaining wish was to expire in the arms of his son. His wish was granted. Jonas returned to Bard, and a fortnight after his return his father was laid in the grave. The poor of Bard wept with Jonas, for they too were the old man's children; a simple stone with an inscription of rude workmanship (for the hands of poor peasants wrought it) marks the last resting-place of Esaias Tengelyi.
His father's death threw Jonas into a different career. Hitherto he had sacrificed his ambition to his sense of duty, but now his choice was free; and, at his time of life, there are few who will tread an humble and tranquil path. Jonas preferred to embark in a political career; and since the study of law is the first condition to eminence, he devoted the whole of his energies to the rudiments of that dry and uninteresting science. Having turned his paternal heritage into money, and realised the modest sum of six hundred florins, he passed three years at the German universities, but especially at Heidelberg, where the strongest bonds of friendship united him with that very Rety, in whose village our readers have seen him established as notary. His studies ended, we find Jonas Tengelyi at Pesth, in the act of entering into public life. He had great hopes, great ambition, and very little money. But Jonas was not a man to be daunted by privations. He took his oath, was admitted as "juratus," rattled his sword for eighteen months on the steps of the Curia, and, being thus duly prepared, he was at length admitted to the bar.
This period of our hero's life contains nothing whatever for his biographer or the public to take an interest in, excepting always the negative wonder of Tengelyi having been a "juratus" for eighteen months without having once fought, got drunk, or played at billiards. Need we add that he was very unpopular among his comrades?