His novels and sketches treat of nearly every aspect of Magyar life, in the past and in the present. The heroic deeds of the ancient or mediæval Magyars are subjects of his novels as well as the doings and thoughts of official and non-official Hungary of the present century. It would, however, be quite incorrect to ascribe to him any intention of writing the “_Comédie humaine_” of Hungary. No such vast system underlies his countless stories. He has no system; in reality, nothing is more removed from his mind than any such big structure of ideas and facts. He has frequently chosen non-Magyar subjects; and when treating of Magyar events or institutions, he has no philosophical aim to pursue, and no patriotic theory to uphold. He writes novels out of sheer love of telling tales. In the feeblest of his works the reader cannot but notice that singular alertness and freshness of an author hugely enamoured of his profession—and gaily at work. The narrating is of much the greater interest to him; the tale itself does not always claim his full attention. Whether or no, the plot is consistently thought out to the end; or, whether or no, the persons always proceed on the lines of their characters; all that does not too much ruffle Jókai’s joyous composure of authorship. For, to put it in one word, he is an improvisatore; in fact, the greatest of all known improvisatori. This is the key to all his excellencies, as well as to his alleged failings. The Teutonic nations, and amongst the Latin ones the French are, as a rule, entirely unfamiliar with that most fascinating of talking virtuosi, the _improvisatore_. Even in the wild excitement of the French Revolution there was only one orator, Danton, who improvised his speeches; the rest, even Mirabeau, read them. The vast amount of _parlature_ done in Hungary, to which we called attention at the very outset of this work, has given rise both to marvellous artists of the living word, and to audiences passionately fond of listening to good talk, and on all possible occasions too. The good talker in America is a man who _à propos_ of any occurrence, is reminded of a story that happened “in Denver, Colorado, or Columbus, Ohio.” No such individual would be endured in Hungary. The good talker there is an improvisatore proper. He is never “reminded” of an old story; he invents on the spot or extracts from the actual topic of conversation all the sparks of wit and humour that fall upon the prose of life like dew upon dry flowers. The gift and long habit of improvisation thus makes some of those mostly unknown artists most charming companions and astoundingly clever talkers. He who has not lived amongst them, cannot possibly imagine their ease of invention, their humour, their power of description and their imagination. They are not, as in Italy, professional improvisatori; and perhaps nobody would be more astounded than themselves at the application of that term to them. Yet, a