POETRY.— Julian the Apostate. By Christopher James Riethmfiller. (Virtue and Co.)—Mr.

Riethmfiller has not been excessive in his de- mands upon the attention of the public. It is, we think, more than twenty years since he published his poem of Teuton. This drama of Julian the Apostate has, indeed, less need than most poetry of the day to excuse its appearance. It is really a work of solid merit. In the first place, it is distinctly readable, a quality which, as far as our experience goes, dramatic poetry commonly lacks. It represents a careful study of authorities, and a vivid conception of the time. There is, indeed, little of the true dramatic character in the play. There is no central point of interest in it, though such a point is cer- tainly suggested by the subject, in the last struggle between Paganism

and Christianity. It is tolerably clear, indeed, that with all his re- spectable literary power, Mr. Riethmfiller is somewhat wanting in force. When the occasion seems to invite it, he fails to rise to the expected height. The death of Julian, for instance, is a scene which affords scope for the exercise of great powers, if such powers exist. Our author is distinctly tame, when he comes to it. Even the famous

" Galilean, thou halt conquered !" with a strange lack of dramatic feeling, be puts into the month of a minor character, making it the last and, we venture to say, the worst line in the whole play :— " The cause is lost. The Galilean has conquered."

Generally, Mr. Riethmfiller's verse, though wanting in variety of pause, and never rising to any great height, is evenly good. Here is a specimen of it, from the dialogue in which Basil (the Great) and Gregory Nazianzen discourse of the dead Emperor. Basil speaks :—

" I loved this Julian.

Ho was the friend and comrade of my youth, As you were. Gregory. I have not forgotten The happy home at Athens, the bright hopes, The common studies, pleasures, fancie., thoughts, And all the promise of our golden morn ; And this sad ending of a tragic story Fills me with deepest sorrow. That a man

So g fted, and so raised above his fellows,

Endowed with almost every human virtue,

Should so have missed his way, and spent his force On a vain struggle against right and truth,

Is to my mind a source of genuine pity, More doleful and pathetic than the tale Of (Edipus and all his fated line."

—Faith, and other Poems. By James Warlow. (Longman.)—Mr. Warlow writes his Faith somewhat after the manner of Thomas Campbell's " Pleasures of Hope." Unfortunately, there is a differ- ence. We can say nothing more in favour of his verse than that it rhymes and scans, one or two exceptions being allowed for, as, for instance,— " Intelligence-Eternal, pervading,"

where we find that the emphasis has to be put on the " ing" of the last word, making it rhyme with " thing " in the next line. The language is not always very happy. A knife may possibly be said LIS "drink," but hardly to "sip" the life-blood of a victim, even though "sips" is a convenient assonance to "lips." As to the matter, there is little to be said. Mr. Warlow is very severe upon priests in general, and Rome in particular. He does not think much better of any Protestant sects. "For," as he poetically puts it;,— "Thousand, who themselves Ch. ist's followers call Are blind idolators, in Satan's thrall."

Mr. Warlow's creed is expressed by a line which is as good as any that we can find in his volume :-

" Have faith, be just, and Heav'n will ask no more!"

—The True and Romantic Story of Colonel and Mrs. Hutchinson. By J. Antisell Allen. (Elliot Stock.)—Mr. Allen has some talent for verse-writing, but does not display it to the best advantage in the form which ho has chosen for his present work. There is not a single thing in this somewhat tedious drama which might not have been pat without difficulty in the much more pleasing shape of a narrative. The story of John Hutchinson's sudden passion for Lucy Apsley, a passion first conceived before he had seen her, and developed by her presence, is as good a subject as could be found for an " idyll," but. we see nothing specially dramatic about it. And the interruptions of " First Gentleman " and "Second Gentleman," which the dramatic form suggests, if it does not necessitate, are distinctly tedious. Here are a few lines of Mr. Allen's verse :- " My heart and all my pulses throb with joy,

And, oh ! to think such love was in reserve, When I stood trembling on the very verge Of that deep, yawning chasm, where buried lie Such myriad bankrupt hopes ; and shuddering looked Into its yawning depths, nor could withdraw My fascinated gaze; and all things looked Wintry, and ghast, and horrible; but now The sun is on the hill-tops of my soul, And perfumed Spring, vocal with song, flower-crowned, Enfolds the radiant world for evermore!"

Hesperus, Rhythm and Rhyme. By E. W. Edmonds. (Kegan Paul, Trench, and Co.)—Mr. Edmonds needs to learn much, in the matter both of rhythm and of grammar, not to speak of thought, before he can write verse :—

"An old strain Will through my silent chamber steal, And rain down harmonies on my lone meal."

" She says she has forgotten quite, and it must be a great mistake,

So hideous an object neer one thought from her could scarcely take,"

are about as clumsy expressions as are often to be found. The beat thing in the volume is "Oar Elsie ;" perhaps the worst, "The Foundering of the ` Cyprian,'" where a really tragic story is utterly spoilt by the feebleness of the telling.—The Empress Charlotte, and other Poems. By Peter Southmead Glubb, B.D. (London Literary Society.) "The profits arising from the sale of these poems rue devoted to charity." On the strength of this statement, we shall not be doing wrong if we wish the volume a success vastly beyond its merits.