In Kisfaludy the influence of the literary ideals of the French and Germans is easily traceable. Like his models he was steeped in romanticism and worship of the distant past. Yet he was saved from the sickliness and namby-pambiness of many a German or French romantic poet by his strong sense of humour. In his dramas (“_Stibor Vaida_,” “_Irén_,” etc.) he frequently manifests strong dramatic vitality. It is in his comedies and gay stories, that he excels. His humour is broad, subtle, sympathetic and well worded. In his tragedies he did not succeed in creating a type, this, one of the safest criteria of a poet’s genius. In his comedies (“_Csalódások_” [“Disappointments”]; “_Kérők_” [“The Wooers”]; “_Leányőrző_” [“Girl’s Guard”], etc.) on the other hand, he has given types of undying vitality; such as “_Mokány_,” the rough, humorous and honest young country squire. If we consider the fact here so frequently alluded to, that social life in Hungary was up to the thirties of this century exclusively life among the county-families in the country, or in small towns; if, moreover, we remember that such life on a small scale, where each person stands out in bold relief and unencumbered by the numerous social mediocrities of large towns, is the proper foster-earth of rich personalities: it will be easy to see, that social life in Hungary in Kisfaludy’s youth was bristling with delightfully original types of men and women. They only waited for the hand of the poet to spring into their frames, and form valuable pictures. Country-life and small towns in Hungary, to the present day, are full of the most delightful types, both men and women; and the reputation of a Dickens might have been acquired by him who would have told the “adventures” and freaks of, for instance, the quaint, many-tongued sires of the county of Sáros. Kisfaludy, with the true poet’s eye _saw_ those types, and put them bodily on his canvas. They talk on his pages that very language, full of savoury adjectives and verbal somersaults, that they used when meeting at the halls of their friends, at the “Casino” of the place or at the table in front of the Swiss _Confiserie_, in the sleepy streets of their county capital. In his novels, “_Tollagi János_” [a proper name]; “_Sulyosdi Simon_” [a proper name], etc., Kisfaludy has recorded many a precious feature of the life of these sturdy, amiable, enthusiastic, shrewd and simple country-gentry, in the midst of whom moved the pathetic and lofty young girl; the coquettish and charming young wife (or “little heaven,” “_mennyecske_” as the Hungarian word has it); the quaint old maid, and the still quainter old bachelor. Here Kisfaludy is at his best; and in showing his fellow-writers some of the wealth to be found in their own country, he did Hungarian Literature and Hungarian nationality an immense service. In some of his lyrical poems, and especially in his truly majestic ode to the memory of the disaster