The Eighth Tribe, 1976 (3. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
1976-05-01 / 5. szám
Page 2 THE EIGHTH TRIBE May, 1976 WHAT IS THE EIGHTH TRIBE? The Hungarian Nation when entering the Carpathian Basin in the 9th century A.D. was composed of seven Magyar tribes of Scythian origin. Many hundreds years later some of the people left Hungary for a newly discovered land — and this segment became the Eighth Tribe. To those who were born in this land, speaking or not the Hungarian language, Reformed, Lutheran, Catholic or any other faith, even if only a trace of Hungarian origin in them, to these this Magazine is dedicated. There are many social activities pursued by today’s generation to further or keep up some of the Hungarian customs in their own respective areas. We would like to bring aU these to our readers, so they know what is happening in Pittsburgh, Cleveland, Detroit, Chicago, New York, Florida and California or wherever it may be. Send us pictures and descriptions of your groups. There are many of the second and third generation, who have achieved distinguished fame in their fields. We would like to bring this to the attention of our readers, so aH of us can be proud of their achievements. The first issue of The Eighth Tribe was published April, 1974. THE EIGHTH TRIBE Editor .......................................................... Sándor E. Chomos Contributing Editors: ........... Albert Wass, Joseph Széplaki Dr. and Mrs. István S. Tuba Published and printed monthly by the Bethlen Press, Inc. P. O. Box 637, Ligonier, Pa. 15658, U.S.A. Second Class Postage paid at Ligonier, Pa. 15658, U. S. A. Subscription: $8.00 yearly. Sándor Petőfi: MY MOTHER’S HEN Eh, what’s this! Mother hen, Are you living here in this room? My, God certainly is good to you, He has elevated you oh so high! Here she runs, back and forth, She even flies up onto the chest, When she thinks of it, she cackles, And still they do not throw her out of the room. But no, they don’t throw hir out, They feed her like a pigeon, She picks about in the hemp seed, Even a prince doesn’t live better. Now then, mother hen, At least behave yourself properly, Work hard, let it not happen That my mother finds a shortage of eggs. Our dog Crumb, sharpen your ears, Now let me talk to you, You are an old servant around the house, You have always served so well. Be good from now on too, Crumb, Do not take a liking to hen meat, Live as a friend with the hen . . . My mother’s single livestock. Vác, 1848, February Translated by Frank Szomy
