The United Amateur/June 1916/Department Of Public Criticism
The United Amateur
Official Organ of the United Amateur Press Association
Department Of Public Criticism
The Coyote for July opens with Harry E. Rieseberg’s verses entitled “The Sum of Life,” whose structure is excellent as a whole, though defective in certain places. The word “mirage” is properly accented on the second syllable, hence is erroneously situated in the first stanza. “A mirage forever seeming” is a possible substitute line. Other defects are the attempted rhymes of “decay” with “constancy,” “carried” with “hurried,” and “appalled” with “all”. The metre is without exception correct, and the thoughts and images in general well presented, wherefore we believe that with a little more care Mr. Rieseberg can become a very pleasing poet indeed. “The Philippine Question”, by Earl Samuel Harrington, aged 15, is an excellent juvenile essay, and expresses a very sound opinion concerning our Asiatic colonies. It is difficult to be patient with the politlcal idiots who advocate the relinquishment of the archipelago by the United States, either now or at any future time. The mongrel natives, in whose blood the Malay strain predominates, are not and never will be racially capable of maintaining a civilized condition by themselves. “How Fares the Garden Rose”? is a poem bearing the signature of Winifred Virginia Jordan, which is a sufficient guarantee of its thorough excellence. “To a Breeze”, also by Mrs. Jordan, is distinguished by striking imagery, and displays in the epithet “moon-moored”, that highly individualistic touch which is characteristic of its author. “Peace”, by Andrew Francis Lockhart, is a poem of excellent construction, though marred by two serious misprints which destroy the harmony of the first and third lines. *** The Dixie Booster for March–April is an exceedingly neat and clever paper from the House of Nixon. “Spring in the South”, a poem by Maude K. Barton, opens the issue in pleasant fashion, the attractive images well atoning for certain slight mechanical deficiencies. “Dick’s Success”, by Gladys L. Bagg, is a short story whose phraseology exhibits considerable talent and polish. The didactic element is possibly more emphasized than the plot, though not to a tedious extent. Whether or not a rough draft of a novel may be completed in the course of a single afternoon, a feat described in this tale, we leave for the fiction-writing members of the United to decide! Of the question raised regarding the treatment of the Indian by the white man in America it is best to admit in the words of Sir Roger de Coverly, ‘that much might be said on both sides’. Whilst the driving back of the aborigines has indeed been ruthless and high-handed, it seems the destiny of the Anglo-Saxon to sweep inferior races from his path wherever he goes. There are few who love the Indian so deeply that they would wish this continent restored to its original condition, peopled by savage nomads instead of civilized colonists. “The Deuce and Your Add”, by Melvin Ryder, is a bit of light philosophy whose allegorical case is well maintained. “To a Warbler”, by Roy W. Nixon, is a meritorious piece of verse whose rhythm moves with commendable sprightliness, though the first line of the first staza might be made to correspond better with the first line of the second stanza. The word “apparent” in the last line, seems a little unsuited to the general style of the poem, being more suggestive of the formal type of composition, “Grandma”, also by Mr. Roy Nixon, is a noble sonnet whose quality foreshadows real poetical distinction for its author. “You”, by Dora M. Hepner, contains sublime images, but possesses metrical imperfections. The general anapaestic or dactylic rhythm is much disturbed by the iambic fourth line of the first stanza. The editorials, jokes, and jingles in this issue are all clever, and proclaim Mr. Raymond Nixon an a capable and discriminating editor. *** Literary Buds for February exhibits the amateurs of Harvey, Illnois, after a long absence from the publishing arenas. The present issue, edited by Mr. Caryl Wilson Dempesy, contains matter of merit and interest. “The Dells of the Wisconsin”, by A. Myron Lambert, is an interesting account of an outing spent amidst scenes of natural grandeur and beauty. The author’s style is fluent and pleasing, though a few slight crudities are to be discerned. On page 1, where the height of a large dam is mentioned, it is stated “that the water must raise that distance before it can fall’. Of course, “rise” is the verb which should have been used. Another erroneous phrase is “nature tract”. “Nature” is not an adjective, but a noun; “natural” is the correct word. However, this anomalous use of nouns for adjectives has only too much prevalence amongst all grades of writers today, and must not be too harshly censured in this case. On page 4 the word “onto” should be supplanted by “upon”, and the awkward pharse: “to be convinced that we had ventured to a place that we did not know any dangers were connected with”, should be changed to something like this: “to convince us that we had ventured to a seemingly dangerous place whose apparent dangers we had not then noticed”. “A Song of Love”, by Editor Dempesy, is cast in uniformly flowing and regular metre, but some of the words require comment. “Lover” is not generally applied by bards to adored members of the gentler sex, “love” being the conventional term. Likewise, the phrase “heart which always softly does its beating” might well be revised with greater attention to poetical precedent. Yet the whole is of really promising quality, and exhibits a metrical correctness much above the average. “The Operation” is a very witty sketch by Miss Clara I. Stalker, with a sudden turn toward the end which arouses the complete surprise and unexpected mirth of the reader. “The High Cost of Flivving”, by Albert Thompson, is a bright bit of versified humour involving novel interpretations of certain technical terms of literature. The swinging dactylic ryhthm is well managed except where the words “descending” and “ascending” occur, and where, in line 24, the metro becomes momentarily anapaestic. *** The Looking Glass for May is the final number of Mrs. Renshaw’s journal of introductions, and makes known to the association a group of 27 new members. One of the most interesting autobiographies is that of Mr. J. E. Hoag of Greenwich, New York, whose friendly sentences, written from the cumulative experience of 85 years of life, possess an elusively captivating quality. Of the non-biographical matter in this issue, Mrs. Renshaw’s compilation entitled “Writing for Profit” deserves particular perusal. This is well set off by the same author’s colloquial lines, “Pride O’ The Pen”, wherein the lethal taint of trade in literature is effectively deplored. “Something” by David H. Whittier, is a thoughtful anaylsis of conditions in the United, with suggestions for improvement. “One Bright Star Enough For Me”, by Mr. John Hartman Oswald of Texas, is a pious poem reminding one of Mr. Addison’s well known effort which begins: “The spacious firmament on high”. We doubt, however, if Mr. Addison has been much improved upon, since several instances of imperfect poetical taste are to be found in Mr. Oswald’s lines. But there are evidences of a great soul throughout the ten stanzas, and the metre is in the main correct. What Mr. Oswald appears to require is a thorough reading of the English classics, with minute attention to their phraseology and images. With such study we believe him capable of development into a poet of enviable force and sincerity. *** Toledo Amateur for April marks the welcome reappearance of Mr. Wesley H. Porter’s neat little journal after a year’s absence. “A Story”, by David H. Whittier, possesses a tragical plot whose interest is slightly marred by triteness and improbable situations. Of the latter we must point out the strained coincidence whereby four distinct things, proceeding from entirely unrelated causes, give rise to the final denouement. The culmination of the aged father’s resolve to kill his enemy, the conditions which make possible the return of the son, the presence of the enemy’s hat and coat uder the wayside tree, and the storm which prompts the son to don these garments, are all independent circumstances, whose simultaneous occurrence, each at exactly the proper time to cause the catastrophe, may justly be deemed a coincidence too great for the purpose of good literature. In an artistically constructed tale, the various situations all develope naturally out of that original cause which in the end brings about the climax; a principle which, if applied to the story in question, would limit the events and their sequences to those arising either directly or indirectly from the wrong committed by the father’s enemy. Since there is no causative connection between the immediate decision of the father to kill his foe, and the developments or discoveries which enable the son to return, the simultaneous occurrence of these unusual things is scarcely natural. Superadded to this coincidence are two more extraneous events; the rather strange presence of the hat and coat near the road, and the timely or untimely breaking of the storm; the improbability indeed increasing in geometrical progression with each separate circumstance. It must, however, be admitted that such quadruple coincidences in stories are by no means uncommon among even the most prominent and widely advertised professional fiction-blacksmiths of the day. Mr. Whittier’s style is that of a careful and sincere scholar, and we believe that his work will become notable in this and the succeeding amateur journalistic generation. The minuteness of the preceding criticism has been prompted not by a depreciatory estimate of his powers, but rather by an appreciative survey of his possibilities. “Say, Brother”, by Mrs. Renshaw, is a poem describing life in the trenches of the Huns. The metre is quite regular, and the plan of rhyming but once broken. Mr. Porter’s prose work; editorial, introductory, and narrative, is all pleasing, though, not wholly free from a certain slight looseness of scholarship. We should advise rigorous exercise in parsing and rhetoric. “Respite”, by Edger Ralph Cheyney, shows real poetical genius, and the iambic heptameters are very well handed, save where one redundant syllable breaks the flow of the last line. Even that would be perfect if the tongue could condense the noun and article “the music”, into “th’ music”. *** The Tornado for April constitutes the publishing debut of Mrs. Addie L. Porter, mother of Toledo Amateur’s gifted young editor. Mrs. Porter’s “Recollections From Childhood” are pleasant and well phrased, bringing to mind very vividly the unrivalled joys of Christmas as experienced by the young. Wesley H. Porter, in “My Vacation”, tells entertainingly of his visit to the hive of the Woodbees last September. The editorial and news paragraphs are all of attractive aspect, completing a bright paper whose four pages teem with enthusiasm and personality. It is to be hoped that other comparatively new United members may follow Mr. Porter’s example in entering the publishing field; for individual journals, though of no greater size than this, are ever welcome, and do more than anything else to maintain interest and promote progress in the association. *** The Trail for April must by no means be confused with Alfred L. Hutchinson’s professionalized magazine of identical title, for this Trail is an older and emphatically non-professional publication issued co-operativaly by Dora M. Hepner and George W. Macauley. Non-professionalism, indeed, seems to dominate the entire tissue to a degree unusual in the broadened and developed United. With the exception of one poem and one short story or sketch, the contents are wholly personal and social. “He Reached my Hand”, by Dora M. Hepner, is an excellent piece of verse, though perhaps not of that extreme polish which is observed in the productions of very careful bards. Miss Hepner has great refinement of fancy and vigour of expression, but evidently neglects to cultivate that beautiful rhetoric and exquisite rhythmic harmony which impress us so forcibly in the work of scholars and bookmen like Rheinhart Kleiner. “A Girl of the U. S.”, by George W. Macauly, is a prose piece whose nature seems to waver between that of a story and a descriptive sketch. Though description apparently preponderates, the narrative turn toward the conclusion may sanction classification as fiction. The faults are all faults of imperfect technique rather than of barren imagination, for Mr. Macaulay wields a graphic pen, and adorns every subject he approaches. In considering minor points, we must remark the badly fractured infinitive “to no longer walk”, and the unusual word “reliefful.” We have never seen the latter expression before, and though it may possibly be a modernism in good usage, it was certainly unknown in the days when we attempted to acquire our education. Mr. Macauley, with his marked descriptive ability, is less at ease in stories of contemporary life than in historical fiction, particularly mediaeval and Oriental tales. His genius is not unlike that of Sir Walter Scott, and shows to especial advantage in annals of knights and chivalry. “Scratchings” are by the pen of Miss Hepner, and display an active wit despite the profusion of slang. It would seem, however, that so brilliant a writer could preserve the desired air of vivacity without quite so many departures from the standard idioms of our language.
Miss Hepner’s remarks on the assimilation of new United members are worthy of note. The cruder amateurs should not feel discouraged by the extraordinary average scholarship of the recent element, but should rather use it as a model for improvement. They should establish correspondence with the cultivated recruits, thereby not only benefiting themselves, but helping each gifted newcomer to find a useful and congenial place amongst us. The present situation is pitifully ludicrous, for pratically all young aspirants call upon only one or two sadly overburdened older members for literary aid, forgetting that there are scores of brilliant writers, teachers, and professors waiting anxiously but vainly to be of real service to their fellow-amateurs. Several of the scholarly new members have particularly inquired how they can best assist the association; yet the association, as represented by its literary novices, has failed to take advantage of most of these offers of instructions and cooperation. We are impelled here to reiterate the slogan which Mr. Daas has so frequently printed in his various journals: “Welcome the Recruits”!. Such a welcome is certain to react with double felicity upon the giver.
“From the Michigan Trail” is Mr. Macauley’s personal column, and contains so bitter an attack on some of the United’s policies of improvement, that we are tempted to remonstrate quite loudly. The captious criticism of the Second Vice-President’s invaluable activities, constructive labours which have pratically regenerated the association and raised it to a higher plane in the world of educational endeavour, is positively ungenerous. To speak of the article in Ole Miss’ entitled “Manuscripts and Silver” as “mercenary”, is the summit of injustice, for it was nothing more or less than the absolutely gratuitous offer to the United of what is now the Symphony Literary Service. We are rather at a loss to divine Mr. Macauley’s precise notion of amateur journalism. He speaks of it as a “tarn”, but we cannot believe he would have it so stagnant a thing as that name implies. Surely, the United is something greater than a superficial fraternal order composed of mediocre and unambitious dabblers. Progress leads toward the outside world of letters, and to cavil at work such as Mrs. Renshaw’s is to set obstacles in the path of progress. Professional literary success on the part of amateur journalists can never react unfavorably on the United, and it seems far from kind and proper to impede the development of members. Why is a professional author necessarily less desirable as an amateur journalist than a professional plumber or boiler-maker? But there is one sound principle at the base of Mr. Macauley’s argument, which deserves more emphasis than the points he elaborates. Professionalism must not enter into the workings of the association, nor should the professionalized amatuer take advantage of amateur connexions to create a market for writings otherwise unsalable. This applies to the now happly extinct tribe of “ten-cents-a-year” publshers, who coolly expected all amateur journalisis to subscribe to their worthless misprints as a matter of fraternal obligation. Mr. Macauley is an extremist on the subject of amateur rating, a fact which explains many otherwise puzzling allusions in his current editorials.
The United Amateur for February is the final number of the Daas regime, and constitutes a noble valedictory indeed. We find it impossible to express with sufficient force our regret at the wihdrawal of Mr. Daas from the United, and we can but hope that the retirement may prove merely temporary. The February official organ is wholly literary in contents, and in quality sustains the best traditions of amateur journalism. Miss Olive G. Owen’s poem, “Give us Peace!”, which opens the issue, is tasteful in imagery and phraseology, and correct in rhyme and metre, but contains the customary unrealities and substitutions of emotion for reasoning which are common to all pacific propaganda. “The Little Old Lady’s Dream”, by M. Almedia Bretholi, is a short story of the almost unpleasantly “realistic” type, whose development and atmosphere exhibit much narrative talent and literary skill. “The Teuton’s Battle-Song” is an attempt of the present critic to view the principles of human warfare without the hypocritical spectacles of sentimentality. “Nature in Literature”, by Arthur W. Ashby, is an essay of unusual quality, revealing a depth of well assimilated scholarship and a faculty for acute observation and impartial analysis, of which few amateur writers may justly boast. “His All”, is an excellent poem by Mrs. Ella Colby Eckert, distinguished equally for its noble thought and facile rhythm. “’Twixt the Red and the White”, a short story by Miss Coralie Austin, displays marked skill in construction and phraseology, though its development is not without a few of the typical crudities of youthful work. There is a trifling suspicion of triteness and banality in plot and dialogue; which is, however, compensated for in the artistic passages so frequently encountered. “Romance, Mystery, and Art”, an essay by Edgar Ralph Cheyney, reflects the learning and thoughtfulness of its author. The poetical fragments entitled “Songs from Walpi”, by Mrs. Winifred V. Jordan, describe the hopeless affection of a Southwestern Indian prince for a maiden of the conquering white race. The atmosphere and images are cleverly wrought, whilst the rhythm is in every detail satisfactory. “Nescio Quo”, by Kathleen Baldwin, is a poem of great attractiveness both in structure and sentiment. “A Crisis”, by Eleanor J. Barnhart, is a short story of distinctly modern type, whose substance and development compare well with professional work. “My Heart and I”, a sonnet by James T. Pyke, exhibits the skill and philosophical profundity charnacteristic of its author. “My Native Land”, a poem by Adam Dickson, describes the Scottish Border with pleasing imagery and bounding anapaestic metre. Mr. Dickson is a poet whose progress should be carefully watched. His improvement is steady, the present piece being easily the best specimen of his work to appear in the amateur press. “Poetry and its Power”, by Helen M. Woodruff, fs a delightful essay containing liberal quotations from various classic bards. “A Resolution”, by Harry Z. Moore, seems to be modelled after Mrs. Renshaw’s well known poem, “A Symphony”. The various precepts are without exception sound and commendable. Helene E. Hoffman presents a brief but pleasing critique of Sir Thomas Browne’s “Hydriotaphia, Urn-Burial; or a Discourse of the Sepulchral Urns lately found in Norfolk”. It is refreshing to discover a modern reader who can still appreciate the quaint literature of the seventeenth century, and Miss Hoffman is to be thanked for her sympathetic review of the pompous, Latinised phrases of the old physician. “He and She”, by Margaret A. Richard, is a thoroughly meritorious poem whose two “allowable rhymes”, “fair–dear”, and “head–prayed”, would be censured only by a critic of punctilious exactitude. “At Sea”, a witty bit of vers de societe by Henry Cleveland Wood, forms an appropriately graceful conclusion to a richly enjoyable issue of the magazine. *** The United Amateur for March brings to the fore Mr. George S. Schilling’s unusual editorial talent, and makes manifest the bright future of the official organ for the balance of the present administrative your. The chief literary contribution is “Hail, Autumn!”, one of Mr. Arthur Ashby’s brilliant and scholarly essays on Nature. The quality of Mr. Ashby’s work deserves particular attention for its reflective depth of thought, and glowing profusion of imagery. Its style is remarkably mature, and escapes completely that subtle suggestion of the schoolboy’s composition which seems inseparable from the average amateur’s attempts at natural description and philosophizing. Mr. Schilling’s editorials are forcible and straightforward, vibrant with enthusiasm for the welfare of the association. “A Representative Official Organ”, by Paul J. Campbell, serves to explain the author’s highly desirable constitutional amendment proposed for consideration at the coming election, which will open the columns of The United Amateur to the general membership at a very reasonable expense. The News Notes in the present issue are sprightly and interesting.
The United Amateur for April is made brilliant by the presence of Henry Clapham McGavack’s terse and lucid exposure of hyphenated hypocrisy, entitled “Dr. Burgess, Propagandist”. Mr. McGavack’s phenomenally virile and convincing style is supported by a remarkable fund of historical and diplomatic knowledge, and the feeble fallacies of the pro-German embargo advocates collapse in speedy fashion before the polished but vigorous onslaughts of his animated pen. Another essay inspired by no superficial thinking is Edgar Ralph Cheyney’s “Nietzschean Philosophy”, wherein some of the basic precepts of the celebrated iconoclast are set forth in comprehensive array. “The Master Voice of Ages Calls for Peace”, a poem by Mrs. Frona Scott, has fairly regular metro, though its sentiment is one of conventional and purely emotional pacificism. “A Gentle Satire on Friendship”, by Freda de Larot, is a very clever piece of light prose; which could, however, be improved by the deletion of much slang, and the rectification of many loose constructions. “A Wonderful Play”, is Mrs. Eloise R. Griffith’s well worded review of Jerome K. Jerome’s “The Passing of the Third Floor Back”, as enacted by Forbes-Robertson. Mrs. Griffith has here, as in all her essays, achieved a quietly pleasing effect, and pointed a just moral. “Fire Dreams”, is a graphic and commendably regular poem by Mrs. Renshaw. “The Beach”, a poem by O. M. Blood, requires grammatical emendation. “How better could the hours been spent” and “When life and love true pleasure brings”, cannot be excused even by the exigencies of rhyme and metre. After the second stanza, the couplet form shifts in an unwarranted manner to the quatrain arrangement. The phraseology of the entire piece displays poetical tendencies yet reveals a need for their assiduous cultivation through reading and further practice. “My Shrine”, by James Laurence Crowley, exhibits real merit both in wording and metre, yet has a rather weak third stanza. The lines:
“One day I crossed the desert sands;
One day I ride my train”;
are obviously anticlimactic. To say that the subject is trite would be a little unjust to Mr. Crowley’s Muse, for all amatory themes, having been worked over since the very dawn of poesy, are necessarily barren of possibilities save to the extremely skilled metrist. Contemporary love-lyrics can scarcely hope to shine except through brilliant and unexpected turns of wit, or extraordinarily tuneful numbers. The following lines by Margaret, Duchess of Newcastle, who died in 1673, well express the situation despite their crudeness:
“O Love, how thou art tired out with rhyme!
Thou art a tree whereon all poets climb;
And from thy branches every one takes some
Of the sweet fruit, which Fancy feeds upon.
But now thy tree is left so bare and poor,
That they can hardly gather one plum more”!
“Indicatory”, a brilliant short sketch by Ethel Halsey, well illustrates the vanity of the fair, and completes in pleasing fashion a very creditable number of our official magazine.
The United Amateur for May forms still another monument to the taste and energy of our official editor, Mr. Schilling. Biography is the keynote of the currant issue, Mrs. Renshaw, Mr. J. E. Hoag, and Mr. Henry Cleveland Wood each receiving mention. Miss Emile C. Holladay displays a pleasing prose style in her account of our Second Vice-President, and arouses interest with double force through the introduction of juvenile incidents.
“Happiness Defined” is a delightful little sketch by Ida C. Haughton, whose philosophy will awake an universal response from the breasts of the majority. “The Wind Fairies”, by Jean F. Barnum, is a poem in prose which contains more of the genuine poetic essence than does the average contemporary versified effort. The grace and grandeur of the clouds and the atmosphere have in all ages been admired, and it is but natural that they figure to a great extent in the beautiful legends of primitive mythology. “The Ship that Sails Away”, by J. E. Hoag, is a delicate and attractive poem whose images and phraseology are equally meritorious. Mr. Hoag’s poetical attainments are such that we await with eagerness the apearance of the pieces predicted in his biography. “To Flavia”, by Chester Pierce Munroe, is a sweet lyric addressed to a young child and pervaded throughout with a quaintly whimsical, almost Georgian, semblance of stately gallantry. The first word of the seventeenth line should read “small” instead of “swell”. As misprinted, this line conveys a rather incongrous impression. “Mountains in Purple Robes of Mist”, a vivid and powerful poem of Nature by Rev. Eugene B. Kuntz, is cast in Alexandrine quatrains, a rather uncommon measure. The only possible defect is in line thirteen, where the accent of the word “sublime” seems to impede the flow of the metre. Line nineteen apparently lacks two syllables, but the deficiency is probably secretarial or typographical rather than literary. “Man as Cook”, also by Dr. Kuntz, is a clever bit of humorous verse in octosyllabic couplets. “Consolation” well exhibits Andrew Francis Lockhart’s remarkable progress as a poet. His verse is increasing every day in polish, and is fast becoming one of the most pleasing and eagerly awaited feature, of amateur letters. “At the End of the Road”, by Mary Faye Durr, is a graphic and touching description of a deserted schoolhouse. The atmosphere of pensive reminiscense is well sustained by the judiciously selected variety of images and allusions. “There’s None Like Mine at Home”, by James Laurence Crowley, is a characteristic bit of Crowleian sentimentality which requires revision and condensation. There is not enough thought to last out three stanzas of eight lines each. Technically we must needs shudder at the apparent incurable use of “m–n” assonance. “Own” and “known” are brazenly and repeatedly flaunted with “roam” and “home” in attempted rhyme. But the crowning splendour of impossible assonance is attained in the “Worlds–girls” atrocity. Mr. Crowley needs a long session with the late Mr. Walker’s well-known Rhyming Dictionary! Metrically, Mr. Crowley is showing a decided improvement of late. The only censurable points in the measure of this piece are the redundant syllables in lines 1 and 3, which might in each case be obviated by the substitution of “I’ve” for “I have”, and the change of form in the first half of the concluding stanza. Of the general phraseology and imagery we may only remark that Mr. Crowley has much to forget, as well as to learn, before he can compete with Mr. Kleiner or other high-grade amatory poets in the United. Such expressions as “my guiding star”, “my own dear darling Kate”, or “she’s the sweetest girl—that e’er on earth did roam”, tell the whole sad story to the critical eye and ear. If Mr. Crowley would religiously eschew the popular songs and magazine “poetry” of the day, and give over all his time to a perusal of the recognized classics of English verse, the result would immediately be reflected in his own compositions. As yet, he claims to be independent of scholarly tradition, but we must remind him of the Latin epigram of Mr. Owen, which Mr. Cowper thus translated under the title of “Retaliation”:
“The works of ancient bards divine,
Aulus, thou scorn’st to read;
And should posterity read thine,
It would be strange indeed!”
So energetic and prolific a writer as Mr. Crowley owes it alike to himself and to his readers to develop us best he can the talent which rests latent within him. *** The Woodbee for April opens with a melodious poem by Adam Dickson, entitled “Love”. While the metre might well be changed in the interests of uniformity, the general effect is not at all harsh, and the author is entitled to no small credit for his production. The only other poem in the magazine is “Alone With Him”, by Mrs. Ida C. Haaughton. This piece is remarkable for its rhyming arrangement, each rhyme being carried through four lines instead of the usual couplet. The sentiments are just, the images well drawn, and the technique correct; the whole forming a highly commendable addition to amateur literature. “The Melody and Colour of ‘The Lady of Shalott’ ”, by Mary Faye Durr, is a striking Tennysonian critique, whose psychological features, involving a comparison of chromatic and poetic elements, are ingenious and unusual. Miss Durr is obviously no careless student of poesy, for the minute analyses of various passages give evidence of thorough assimilation and intelligent comprehension. “On Being Good”, by Newton A. Thatcher, contains sound sense and real humour, whilst its pleasingly familiar style augurs well for Mr. Thatcher’s progress in this species of composition. “War Reflections”, by Herbert Albing, is an apt and thoughtful epitome of the compenseting benefits given to mankind by the present belligerent condition of the world. The cogent and comprehensive series of reviews by Miss Edna M. Haughton, and the crisp and pertinent paragraphs by Editor Fritter, combine with the rest of The Woodbee’s contents to produce an issue uniformly meritorious.
H. P. Lovecraft,
Chairman.