Copies may be procured from Mr. W. H. BROOKS, Backs Green, Rudgwick, Sussex, a county celebrated as the birthplace of SHELLEY. The Review announces itself as “frankly, pagan," and its conductors probably do not know what paganism was. For paganism did not stand in a false following of Mr. THOMAS HARDY, and Mr. GEORGE MEREDITH, and M. PAUL VERLAINE, but in a traditional body of ancient usages, and in a poetry not accessible to aspiring but un-educated intellects. Real paganism to the modern Neo-Pagan would have seemed Tory in politics, bald in art, and unadventurous in morals. The Neo-Pagan is a revival of the young man whom ARI-STOPHANES particularly detested. If the New Paganhad any knowledge of the old paganism he would choose for himself some other nickname. The New Pagan, even in his "Foreword," splits his infinitives, and aspires "to really withdraw from life the approved “veils of convention." This fresh Pagan Review, of course, has a rallying cry—" Art for Art's sake." Very well, but let it be Art! The silly exhibitions of adjectives which do duty as prose in the Pagan Review are not “Art," they are gabble. First, in "The Black “Madonna" we are presented with some allegorical nonsense by Mr. FANSHAWE. The scene is apparently laid in the Soudan. A chief named BIHR is crucified after vapouring in a dialogue with the Black Madonna. The Black Madonna "was ASHTAROTH of old," u.s.w. BIHR cannot even speak grammar. He says, "Thou—“thou, will I worship." Mr. FANSHAWE, the author, is young enough, we hope, to have received a School Board education; but it avails him not, unless pagan-ism be a conscious revolt against the English lan-guage. BIHR would have been birched, not crucified. What befalls Mr. FANSHAWE, if still at school, when he writes Tu adorabo? Meanwhile he "ruffles the “opaline flood into a flying foam of pink" with the best of them.

This is worse than the famous proposal of the young English officer to the Spanish lady:—

Why should “copy" of this kind be called “Art"? It is not pagan. The Greeks knew their own lan-guage, if they knew no other.

Mr. GEORGE GASCOIGNE cries, in italics, "Lift, lift “thine eyes to mine who love so wildly, madly"—it is the Pagan printers who print so madly, wildly. Then Mr. DREEME obliges with a narrative, "The Pagans." The hero is a Mr. TRAQUAIR, apparently, and he has an affair with a Frenchwoman, and her brother, who for some family reason does not kick him, disapproves thereof; but this exciting romance is To be continued, and, for ob-vious Scotch reasons, we do not criticize unfinished work. The “Rape of the Sabines" is finished, and it is to this effect:—

Two Italians stab two other Italians, who, it must be confessed, "richly deserve it." The story is told in the overloaded style which distinguishes new pagan from ancient pagan literature. The tendency to cloud over the matter with layer upon layer of heavy cloying adjectives marks the work of most modern pagans who write about Italy. The same fault pervades a sketch called "The Oread." An Oread, who has access to mountains, runs away from a deerstalker while he is clothed, but runs to meet him when he strips for a swim. He was a fortunate youth; he got his stag, and he secured, apparently, the affec-tions of his Oread. We do not know whether we are expected to be shocked. A fragment of a poem on "Dionysos in India" is pretty arid pleasing, if it contains no very unusual promise. From the adver-tisements it appears that the authors of these pieces propose to offer them to the world, with other per-formances, in books. Thus almost all the work is, in a sense, half-done work. The critical remarks by the editor show that he is not so young but that he can admire, not only Mr. HARDY and Mr. MEREDITH, but also the Laureate and Mr. STEVENSON. We never despair of anyone who believes in Lord TENNYSON, and it is pleasant to find that les jeunes are still capable of enjoying the author of Treasure Island. A scornful remark on the Naulakha suggests that Mr. KIPLING is one of les jeunes, but that he does not swagger on the strength of his youth. The Naulakha is not his best work; but if all these young men pile up adjectives till they are grey, it is unlikely that their combined efforts will be worth one page of Mr. KIPLING, who is not pagan.

It is always worth while to look over the short-lived periodicals of youth; occasionally there is a gem in the waste-paper basket. In this case the gem is still to be waited for in hope. Les jeunes should not make it their chief aim to shock Mrs. GRUNDY. That is like the conduct of small boys, les plus jeunes encore, whose ambition is content with scrawling naughty words on the walls. The Pagans are really not very shocking in this Review, except to the shade of PRISCIAN now and then. If their periodical fails, it will not be because they are young, but because they are dull; not because they are shocking, but because they are stupid. Youth, which has usually nothing to say, is justly anxious to say it well. But the art of writing well is not the trick of laying on adjectives with a palette-knife. That is an illusion which most writers have to outgrow. There can be no better cure for the errors of Neo-paganism than a study of the old pagans, HOMER, SOPHOCLES, VIRGIL. They, not M. PAUL VERLAINE, not even Mr. GEORGE MEREDITH, not even “BEAUDELAIRE" (as the Pagan Review calls thatauthor, who himself smote the Neo-Pagans in a memo-rable essay) are the guides to follow.