credentials, yet remains to be considered. "Dutch Courage", by Louis E.
Boutwell, is a liquorish sketch whose scene is laid in a New Jersey
temple of Bacchus. Being totally unacquainted with the true saloon
atmosphere, we find ourself a little embarrassed as to critical
procedure, yet we may justly say that the characters are all well drawn,
every man in his humor.
"Ol' Man Murdock" is a quaint, and in two senses an =absorbing=, figure.
The rest of the issue is given over to the Muses of poesy. "The Saturday
Fray" is a clever piece by Daisy Vandenbank. The rhyming is a little
uneven, and in one case assonance is made to answer for true rhyme.
"Cream" and "mean" cannot make an artistic couplet. "The Common
Soldiers", by John W. Frazer, is a poem of real merit; whilst "Little
Boy Blue", by W. Hume, is likewise effective. Mr. Hume's pathetic touch
is fervent and in no manner betrays that weakness bordering on the
ridiculous, to which less skillful flights of pathos are prone. "The Two
Springs" is a pleasant moral sermon in verse by Margaret Ellen Cooper.
Concluding the issue is "The Under Dog in the Fight", a vigorous
philosophical poem by Andrew Stevenson.
* * * * *
=The Woodbee= for January is distinguished by Mrs. Winifred V. Jordan's
brilliant short poem entitled "Oh, Where is Springtime?" The sentiment
of the piece is an universal one, and the pleasing lines will appeal to
all. "Retribution", by Mrs. Ida C. Haughton, is a clever story, but the
present critic's extreme fondness for cats makes it difficult to review
after reading the first sentence. However, the well-approached
conclusion is indeed just. The "moral" is a pathetic example of
unregeneracy! Miss Edna M. Haughton's critical article is direct and
discerning; the Woodbee Club is fortunate in having among its members so
capable a reviewer. Editor Fritter likewise mounts the reviewer's throne
in this issue, proceeding first of all to demolish our own fond dream of
yesterday; =The Conservative=. Looking backward down the dim vista of
those bygone but memory-haunted days of October, 1915, when we
perpetrated the horribly plainspoken and frightfully ungentle number
whereof Mr. Fritter treats, we are conscious of our manifold sins, and
must beg the pardon of the liquor interests for shouting so rudely in
the cause of total abstinence. Pres. Fritter's critical style is a good
one, and is developing from month to month. His advocacy of lukewarmness
in writing is perhaps not so complete as one might judge from this
article; though his use of the cautious phrase "it is rumored" in
connection with a well known statement seems hardly necessary. Rigid
impartiality, the critic's greatest asset, is manifest throughout the
review, and we thoroughly appreciate the favorable mention not
infrequently accorded us. In passing upon the merits of =Dowdell's
Bearcat=, Mr. Fritter shows equal penetration and perspicuity, and we
are convinced that his rank amongst amateur reviewers is very high.
H. P. LOVECRAFT,
Chairman.
THE UNITED AMATEUR
OFFICIAL ORGAN OF THE UNITED AMATEUR PRESS ASSOCIATION
VOLUME XV GEORGETOWN, ILL., JUNE, 1916 NUMBER 11
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 political 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 stanza 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 as a capable and discriminating editor.
* * * * *
=Literary Buds= for February exhibits the amateurs of Harvey, Illinois,
after a long absence from the publishing arena. 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 phrase: "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 rhythm is well managed except where
the words "descending" and "ascending" occur, and where, in line 24, the
metre 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
analysis 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 under 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 develop 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 Edgar Ralph Cheyney, shows real poetical genius,
and the iambic heptameters are very well handled, 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-operatively by Dora M. Hepner and George W. Macauley.
Non-professionalism, indeed, seems to dominate the entire issue 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. Macauley, 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. Macauley 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 practically 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 co-operation. 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 practically 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 amateur take advantage of
amateur connexions to create a market for writings otherwise unsalable.
This applies to the now happily extinct tribe of "ten-cents-a-year"
publishers, who coolly expected all amateur journalists 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 withdrawal 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 Bretholl, 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 characteristic 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, is 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.
* * * * *