Jókai), Louise Blaha, Lendvay, Egressy, etc., have set examples and models, inspiring both the poet and the actor. The theatres at Budapest are magnificently equipped, and being, as they are, part of the great national treasure, they partake to a great extent of the nature of a temple, and are visited, not as places of sheer distraction, but as localities of national rallying and spiritual elevation. Most of the leading dramatists of the last five-and-twenty years are still alive, and it is, therefore, twice difficult to pass a final judgment on their works. Mr. Eugene Rákosi, both as a journalist and a drama-writer, occupies a very conspicuous place, and if better known in the west of Europe, would certainly be read, and his pieces seen, with marked interest. Like Mr. Dóczi, who is a high official in the common department of Austria-Hungary, he has that subtle and unanalyzable force of surrounding his scenes, and also frequently his persons, with the splendour of poetic suggestiveness. In his “Endre and Johanna,” “Wars of Queens” (“_Királynék harcza_”), “The School of Love” (“_Szerelem iskolája_”), he does not make it his chief point to create, entangle, still more embroil, and then finally solve a “problem,” although he is a master of scene and situation-making. Nor do he and Mr. Dóczi care to be “realists.” They are satisfied with being poets. Mr. Dóczi has in his “The Kiss” (“_Csók_”) ventured on writing in words what hitherto has only been a success in the tones of Mendelssohn: a drama moving in mid-air, in midsummer night, with gossamery persons and fairy-ideas, away, far away from our time and land. In that he has been signally successful, and Mendelssohn’s overture to the “Midsummer Night’s Dream” is not sweeter and airier than Mr. Dóczi’s “Kiss.” Like Mr. Rákosi, Mr. Dóczi is a master of Hungarian and he wields the German idiom too with the same grace and energy.