into a whole in which strange confusion and leaps from one subject to another do not prevent much poetical beauty and moral and political teaching. Like other earlier and contemporary pieces of this kind, it is more lyric than dramatic; in particular it has no dramatic unity. But if the dramatic element is weak, the historical character of one of the two chief persons, the Emperor Julian, shows an accuracy of conception which, with regard to this prince, must have been rare at that period. In this respect Lorenzo’s drama commands an interest far superior to that which we take in most productions of this class. Since the statue of Victory was taken away from the Curia—so speaks the Emperor—success no longer crowns the Roman arms, which once subdued the world. Only by returning to our old gods can we recall victory to our standards. But the object is not to be attained by this alone, or by taking from the Christians wealth and goods which should be forbidden them by the teachings of their own faith. The head of the empire must again command the old reverence, and this cannot be if the ruler hands over the cares of government to others, while he heaps up treasure and thinks only of amusement. If he is rich, his riches are but lent him to share with his people, and relieve necessity wherever he finds it. Power and property belong not to him, but to the community; he is the steward who has the satisfaction and the glory of distributing to others what fate has placed in his hands. Julian is a man of energy, conscious of the extent and difficulty of his task; Constantine in his old age is the representative of the melancholy which overcomes him, who feels that the burden of government has become too heavy for his shoulders. Who knows whether the poet is not drawing from the experience of his own heart when he puts into the mouth of his hero the description of the labours and dangers of sovereignty, which wear out body and soul, while others see in it the height of happiness, never reflecting that _they_ can sleep while one is watching who holds the scales in his hand, to whom all eyes are turned; who lives not for himself, but for others, who must be the servant of servants: How often does the man that envies me Not know that happier far than I is he.