second of a series of articles on English literature and its classical
foundations. The erudition and enthusiasm displayed in this essay speak
well for the future of the authoress, though certain faults of style and
construction demand correction. Careful grammatical study would
eliminate from Miss Mappin's style such solecisms as the use of =like=
for =as=, whilst greater attention to the precepts of rhetoric would
prevent the construction of such awkward sentences as the following:
"The same if one is reading an interesting book, can one not see all
that is happening there as clearly with one's inner eyes as if it was
all taking place before one, and viewed with one's outer ones?" This
passage is not only wanting in coherence and correctness of syntax, but
is exceedingly clumsy through redundancy of statement, and repetition of
the word =one=. This word, though essential to colloquial diction,
becomes very tiresome when used to excess; and should be avoided in many
cases through judicious transpositions of the text. The following is a
revised version of the sentence quoted above: "Thus, in reading an
interesting book, can one not see with the inner eyes all that is
happening there, as clearly as if it were taking place in reality before
the outer eyes?" Other parts of the essay require similar revision.
Concerning the development of the whole, we must needs question the
unity of the topics. Whilst the connecting thread is rather evident
after a second or third perusal, the cursory reader is apt to become
puzzled over the skips from the Graeco-Roman world to the early Saxon
kingdoms, and thence to the dawn of our language amongst the
Anglo-Normans. What Miss Mappin evidently wishes to bring out, is that
the sources of English literature are twofold; being on the one hand the
polished classics of antiquity, inspired by Greece, amplified and
diffused by Rome, preserved by France, and brought to England by the
Normans; and on the other hand the crude but virile products of our
Saxon ancestors, brought from the uncivilized forests of the continent
or written after the settlement in Britain. From this union of
Graeco-Roman classicism with native Anglo-Saxon vitality springs the
unquestioned supremacy of English literature. Assiduous devotion to the
mastery of rhetoric, and the habit of constructing logical synopses
before writing the text of articles would enable Miss Mappin to utilise
her knowledge of literary history in a manner truly worthy of its depth.
"Trinidad and its People," by "F. E. M. Hercules," exhibits a somewhat
maturer style, and forms a very interesting piece of geographical
description. "The Pursuit of the Innocent," is a serial story by Miss
Trafford, and though only a small part of it is printed in the current
issue, we judge that it derives its general atmosphere from the popular
"thrillers" of the day. The dialogue is not wholly awkward, but there is
a noticeable want of proportion in the development of the narrative.
Miss Trafford would probably profit by a more faithful study of the
standard novelists, and a more complete avoidance of the type of fiction
found in modern weekly periodicals such as =Answers= or =Tit-Bits=.
Those who feel impelled to introduce stirring adventure into their
tales, can do so without sacrifice of excitement and interest by
following really classic writers like Poe and Stevenson; or
semi-standard authors like Sir A. Conan Doyle. The puzzles propounded by
Miss Hillman are quite interesting, though matter of this sort is
scarcely to be included within the domain of pure literature. We guess
=airship= as the answer to the first one, but have not space to record
our speculations concerning the second. =Merry Minutes= closes with the
following poem by Master Randolph Trafford, a very young author:
"Once upon a time, there was a little boy,
And, if you please, he went to school;
That little boy, he always would annoy,
And found at school a very nasty rule."
Without undue flattery to Master Trafford, we may conclusively state
that we deem his poem a great deal better than most of the =vers libre=
effusions which so many of his elders are perpetrating nowadays!
* * * * *
=The Scot= for July is devoted completely to the work of the feminine
amateurs of the United States, and is announced by its editor as an
"American 'Petticoat' Number"; a title which might possibly bear
replacement by something rather less colloquial. "Over the Edge of the
World," a poem by Olive G. Owen, is correct in construction and
appropriate in sentiment, deriving much force from the continued
repetition of the first line. "In Morven's Mead," by Winifred V. Jordan,
is one of a series of fanciful poems all bearing the same title. The
present verses show all the charm and delicacy which characterise the
whole. "Patience--A Woman's Virtue," is one of Mrs. Eloise N. Griffith's
thoughtful moral essays, and is as commendable for its precepts as for
its pure style. "His Flapper," by Edna von der Heide, is a clever piece
of trochaic verse in Cockney dialect, which seems, so far as an American
critic can judge, to possess a very vivid touch of local colour. "An Eye
for an Eye," by the same authoress, seems vaguely familiar, having
possibly been published in the amateur press before. If so, it is well
worthy of republication. "Women and Snakes," a sketch by Eleanor J.
Barnhart, is not a misogynistical attempt at comparison, but a theory
regarding the particular fear with which the former are popularly
supposed to regard the latter. Whilst Miss Barnhart writes with the
bravery of the true scientist, we are constrained to remark that a
certain dislike of snakes, mice, and insects is a very real thing; not
only amongst the fair, but equally amongst those sterner masculine souls
who would stoutly deny it if questioned. It is an atavistical fear,
surviving from primitive ages when the venomous qualities of reptiles,
insects, and the like, made their quick avoidance necessary to
uninstructed man. "Be Tolerant," by Winifred V. Jordan, is a didactic
poem of the sort formerly published in =The Symphony=. While it does not
possess in fullest measure the grace and facility observed in Mrs.
Jordan's more characteristic work; it is nevertheless correct and
melodious, easily equalling most poetry of its kind. Mr. McColl's
editorial column, the only masculine feature of the issue, contains a
very noble tribute to the two soldier cousins of Miss von der Heide, who
have laid down their lives for the cause of England and the right. From
such men springs the glory of Britannia.
* * * * *
=The Scot= for August opens with Winifred V. Jordan's tuneful lines, "If
You but Smile," whose inspiration and construction are alike of no mean
order. "Hoary Kent," by Benjamin Winskill, is an exquisite sketch of a
region where the past still lives. In an age of turmoil and unrest, it
is a comfort to think that in one spot, at least, the destroying claws
of Time have left no scars. There lie the scenes dear to every son and
grandson of Britain; there are bodied forth the eternal and unchanging
traditions that place above the rest of the world
"This precious stone set in the silver sea--
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England."
"Meditation of a Scottish Queen on Imprisonment," a poem by Margaret
Trafford, contains noble passages, but is marred by defective technique.
Passing over the use of the expletives =do= and =doth= as legitimate
archaisms in this case, we must call attention to some awkward
phraseology, and to the roughness of certain lines, which have either
too few or too many syllables. The very first line of the poem requires
contraction, which might be accomplished by substituting =hapless= for
=unhappy=. Line 8 would read better if thus amended:
"I would that death might come and me release."
The final line of the first stanza lacks a syllable, which might be
supplied by replacing =vile= with =hateful=. The second stanza will pass
as it is, but the entire remainder of the poem requires alteration,
since but two of the lines are of normal decasyllabic length. The
following is rough revision, though we have not attempted to build the
poetry anew:
Oh! could I breathe again dear Scotland's air;
Behold once more her stately mountains high,
Thence view the wide expanse of azure sky,
Instead of these perpetual walls so bare!
Could I but see the grouse upon the moor,
Or pluck again the beauteous heather bell!
Freedom I know not in this dismal cell,
As I my anguish from my heart outpour.
My Scotland! know'st thou thy poor Queen's distress,
And canst thou hear my wailing and my woe?
May the soft wind that o'er thy hills doth blow
Waft thee these thoughts, that I cannot suppress!
"Six Cylinder Happiness," a brief essay by William J. Dowdell, presents
in ingeniously pleasing style a precept not entirely new amongst
philosophers. Mr. Dowdell's skill with the pen is very considerable,
particularly when he ventures outside the domain of slang. We should
like to suggest a slightly less colloquial title for this piece, such as
"Real Happiness." "For Right and Liberty," a poem by Matthew Hilson, is
commendable in sentiment and clever in construction, but lacks
perfection in several details of phraseology. In the third line of the
third stanza the word =ruinous= must be replaced by a true dissyllable,
preferably =ruin'd=. "For Their Country," a short story by Margaret
Trafford, is vivid in plot and truly heroic in moral, but somewhat
deficient in technique, particularly at the beginning. Miss Trafford
should use care in moulding long sentences, and should avoid the
employment of abbreviations like =etc.= in the midst of narrative text.
"That Sunny Smile," by John Russell, is a cleverly optimistic bit of
verse whose rhythm is very facile, but which would be improved by the
addition of two syllables to the third and sixth lines of each stanza.
The rhyme of =round you= and =found true= is incorrect, since the second
syllables of double rhymes must be identical. "The Evil One," by
Narcissus Blanchfield, is announced as "A Prose-poem, after Oscar
Wilde--a long way after." As an allegory it is true to the facts of the
case; though one cannot but feel that there is room for a freer play of
the poetic imagination in so great a subject.
* * * * *
=Toledo Amateur= for October is a literary publication which reflects
much credit upon its young editor, Mr. Wesley Hilon Porter, and upon the
several contributors. "Twilight," a correct and graceful poem by Miss
von der Heide opens the issue. "A Sabbath," by Mary Margaret Sisson, is
a sketch of great merit, though not wholly novel in subject. The
hypocrisy of many self-satisfied "pillars of the church" is only too
well known both in life and in literature. At the very close of the
piece, the word =epithet= is used in a slightly incorrect sense, meaning
"motto." =Epithet=, as its Greek derivation shows, signifies an
=adjective= or descriptive expression. "The Workers of the World," by
Dora M. Hepner, is another sociological sketch of no small merit,
pleasantly distinguished by the absence of slang. "Not All," by Olive G.
Owen, is a poem of much fervour, albeit having a somewhat too free use
of italics. The words and rhythm of a poet should be able to convey his
images without the more artificial devices of typographical variation.
Another questionable point is the manner of using archaic pronouns and
verb forms. Miss Owen seems to use both ancient and modern conjugations
of the verb indifferently with such subjects as =thou=. "A Day at Our
Summer Home," by Emma Marie Voigt, is a descriptive sketch of
considerable promise, and "My First Amateur Convention," by Mrs. Addie
L. Porter, is a well written chronicle of events. "The Wild Rose," by
Marguerite Allen, is a poem of no little grace, though beset with many
of the usual crudities of youthful work. In the first place, the
quatrains should have their rhymes regularly recurring; either in both
first and third, and second and fourth lines; or only in second and
fourth. A rhyme occurring only in first and third lines gives an
unmusical cast, since it causes the stanza to end unrhymed. Secondly,
the words =fence= and =scent= do not form a legitimate rhyme. The easy
correctness of the metre is an encouraging sign, and indicates a poetic
talent which Miss Allen would do well to cultivate. Mr. Porter's article
on amateur journalism is interesting and quite just, though we hope that
the United has not quite so "little to offer" the devotee of "so-called
high-class literature" as the author believes. If we are to retain our
cultivated members, or our younger members after they acquire
cultivation, we must necessarily cater to the better grade of taste;
though of course without neglecting the succeeding generation of
novices. The editorial column of this issue is bright and fluent,
concluding one of the best amateur journals of the season.
* * * * *
THE UNITED AMATEUR for September contains something only too seldom
found in the amateur press; a really meritorious short story. "The
Shadow on the Trail," by Eleanor J. Barnhart, possesses every element of
good fiction; a substantial and really interesting plot, a logical
development from beginning to conclusion, an adequate amount of
suspense, a climax which does not disappoint, and a praiseworthy degree
of local colour. Besides all of which it is fluent in language and
correct in syntax. The rest of the literary department in this issue is
devoted to verse. "To a Friend," by Alice M. Hamlet, is particularly
pleasing through the hint of old-school technique which its well ordered
phrases convey. The one weak point is the employment of =thy=, a
singular expression, in connexion with several objects; namely, "paper,
pen, and ready hand." =Your= should have been used. The metre is
excellent throughout, and the whole piece displays a gratifying skill on
its author's part. "The Path Along the Sea," by Rev. Eugene B. Kuntz, is
a flawless and beautiful bit of sentimental poetry, cast in fluent and
felicitous heptameter. "Dad," by Horace Fowler Goodwin, is decidedly the
best of this writer's pieces yet to appear in the amateur press. The
defects are mostly technical, including the bad rhyme of =engaged= and
=dismayed=, and the overweighted seventh line of the final stanza. The
latter might be rectified by substituting =blest=, or some other
monosyllable, for =lucky=. "Li'l Baby Mine," by W. Frank Booker, is a
quaint and captivating darky lullaby, whose accuracy of dialect and
atmosphere comes from that first-hand knowledge of the negroes which
only a Southern writer can possess. Mr. Booker is one of our most
promising bards, and will be doubly notable when his style shall have
received its final polish. "When I Gaze on Thee," by Kathleen Foster
Smith, is an amatory poem of much grace and fluency.
* * * * *
THE UNITED AMATEUR for October furnishes us with a species of
composition not frequently encountered in amateurdom; an official report
which is also a literary classic. Pres. Campbell's message is really an
essay on contemporary amateur journalism, and contains a multitude of
well stated truths which every member of the fraternity would do well to
peruse. "The Wanderer's Return," by Andrew Francis Lockhart, is a
beautiful piece of anapaestic verse whose flow is as pleasing as its
sentiment.
* * * * *
=The Woodbee= for October is edited by Mrs. Ida C. Haughton, and though
not of large size, does credit both to her and to the Columbus Club. "To
the Woodbees," a witty parody of Poe's "Annabel Lee," exhibits Miss
Irene Metzger as the possessor of no little skill in numbers; and
incidentally suggests that other young bards might well improve their
styles by judicious exercises of this sort. Much of the spirit of metre
may be absorbed through copying the works of the standard poets.
"Louise's Letter," a short story by Norma Sanger, contains some of the
defects of early composition, notably an undue hastening of the action
immediately after the letter quoted in the text. The plot involves a
rather unusual coincidence, yet is probably no more overstrained than
that of the average piece of light fiction. "The Ruling Passion," by
Edna M. Haughton, is a story of phenomenal power and interest, forming a
psychological study worthy of more than one perusal. All the
requirements of good fiction, both inspirational and technical, are
complied with to the satisfaction of even the most exacting critic. Miss
Haughton's work is of a very high grade, and would be welcomed in larger
quantities by the amateur world. Miss Harwood's interesting News Notes
and Mrs. Haughton's thoughtful editorial conclude an issue whose every
feature deserves commendation.
H. P. LOVECRAFT,
Chairman.
THE UNITED AMATEUR MAY 1917
DEPARTMENT OF PUBLIC CRITICISM
=The Conservative= for January deserved distinction for its opening
poem, "The Vagrant," which proceeds from the thrice-gifted pen of Mrs.
W. V. Jordan. The piece is one well worthy of close attention, since it
contains to a marked degree those elements of charm which render its
author so prominent among amateur bards. Bold and discriminating choice
of words and phrases, apt and unique images and personifications, and a
carefully sustained atmosphere of delicate unreality, all unite to
impart a characteristic beauty to the lines. This beauty, searchingly
analysed, reveals itself as something more sylvan and spontaneous than
studied and bookish; indeed, all of Mrs. Jordan's verse is born rather
than built.
"The Unbreakable Link," a prose sketch by Arthur W. Ashby, is smooth and
graphic in its delineation of a dream or vision of the past. The ancient
heritage of Old England and its hoary edifices is here vividly set
forth. Mr. Ashby's work, always notable for its command and intelligent
interpretation of detail, is welcome wherever encountered.
"When New-Year Comes," a poem by Rev. Eugene B. Kuntz, exhibits its
brilliant author in a most felicitous though decidedly novel vein.
Turning from his usual Alexandrines and heptameters, and laying aside
his characteristically stately and sonorous vocabulary, Dr. Kuntz has
produced a gem of brevity and simplicity in octosyllabic couplets. The
ease and naturalness of the language are so great that the reader feels
no other words or constructions could have been used with equal effect.
The remainder of =The Conservative=, being the work of the present
critic, deserves no particular mention.
* * * * *
=The Coyote= for January bears an attractive cover design illustrating
the gentle beast after which the publication is named. The opening
piece, an alleged poem by the present critic, contains an humiliating
error for which none but the author is responsible. The impossible word
=supremest= in line 16, should read =sublimest=. The author is likewise
responsible for the omission of the following couplet after line 26:
"Around his greatness pour disheart'ning woes,
But still he tow'rs above his conquering foes."
The rest of the magazine is devoted to prose of practical nature,
containing suggestions by Editor Harrington and Rev. Graeme Davis for
the resuscitation of one of the dormant press associations.
* * * * *
=The Coyote= for April, home-printed and reduced to the conventional 5◊7
page, opens with Mrs. Jordan's pleasant lines on "The Duty." While the
general sentiment of this piece is by no means novel, the powerful and
distinctive touch of the authoress is revealed by such highly original
passages as the following:
"And black-wing'd, clucking shadows
Brought out their broods of fears."
A poet of rather different type is displayed in "The Five-Minute
School," by Lovell Leland Massie. Mr. Massie is said to have "an
unlimited supply of poems on hand which he desires to publish," but it
is evident that some preliminary alterations would not be undesirable.
In the first place, the metre requires correction; though it is
remarkably good for beginner's work. Particularly weak lines are the
second in stanza four, and the second in stanza six. The phraseology is
stiff but by no means hopeless, and proclaims nothing more serious than
the need of greater poetic familiarity on the author's part. The rhymes
are good with two exceptions; =past= and =class=, and =jewel= and
=school=. Mr. Massie, however, is not the first bard to reduce =jew-el=
to "=jool=!" "The Coyote," by Obert O. Bakken, is a worthy and
interesting composition upon a well known animal. "A Soul," by Olive G.
Owen, is reprinted from the professional press, and amply merits the
honour. The poem is of unexceptionable technique and adequate sentiment.
Miss Owen's brilliant, fruitful, and long-continued poetical career has
few parallels in the amateur world. "The Amateur Christian," a brief
prose essay by Benjamin Winskill, presents more than one valuable truth;
though we wish the word "=par=," near the close, might be expanded to
proper fulness. We presume that it is intended to stand for =paragraph=.
* * * * *
=The Crazyquilt= for December is a highly entertaining illustrated
publication whose exact classification is a matter of some difficulty.
We might perhaps best describe it as a bubbling over of youthful
spirits, with here and there a touch of unobtrusive seriousness. The
editor, Mr. Melvin Ryder, is to be commended upon his enterprise; which
consists in approximately equal parts of prose, verse, and whimsical
=vers libre=. It is the last named product which most absorbs our
attention, since the given specimens afford a very brilliant satire on
the absurd medium in which they are set. The choicest selections are due
to the fertile pen of Mr. William S. Wabnitz, assisted by that not
unknown classic called "Mother Goose," whose ideas accord well with the
thought of the new "poetry." "A Futuresk Romance," by Mr. Wabnitz alone,
is of exceeding cleverness. Among the genuine poems, we may give
particular commendation to "Bluebirds are Flying Over," by Mrs. Dora
Hepner Moitoret; "Longin' and Yearnin'," "Spring," "Verses," and
"Dreaming," by J. H. Gavin; and "Stars After Rain," by William S.
Wabnitz. Mr. Gavin's "Dreaming" is a hauntingly pretty piece, though
marred by an imperfect line (the twelfth) and by an incorrect
accentuation of the word =romance=. This word should be accented on the
final syllable.
"Odd Patches and Even" is the title of the editorial column, which
contains many words of wisdom (though not too grave) by Mr. Ryder. We
hope to behold future issues of =The Crazyquilt=.
* * * * *
=Dowdell's Bearcat= for October, partly compiled and financed by the
United's official board in lieu of the missing =Official Quarterly=,
comes to us unbound and without a cover; yet contains, aside from the
inexcusable editorials, a rich array of meritorious material. Mr.
Dowdell's comment on radical eccentrics and malcontents is apt and
clever, showing how bright this young writer can be when he avoids bad
taste and personalities.
"A Little Lovely Lyric," by Mrs. Dora H. Moitoret, is one of the
choicest of this author's poems, having a spirit and cadence of rare
quality. In "The Real Amateur Spirit," Pres. Campbell presents in
vigorous prose many important truths and principles of amateur
journalism. The concluding sentence forms a definition of our animating
impulse which deserves repeated publication as a motto and inspiration.
"An American To Mother England," by the present critic, is an expression
of cultural and ancestral ties which have now, through the fortunes of
war, grown doubly strong. The word =Saxon=, in the last line, should
begin with a capital. "Dream Life" is a vivid piece of prose mysticism
by our versatile and gifted Vice-President, Mr. Ira A. Cole. Defying
precise grouping either as a sketch or a story, this enigmatical bit of
fancy deserves highest praise for its fluent diction, rich imagination,
potent atmosphere, and graphic colouring. Mr. Cole has a bright future
in prose as well as in verse for in both of these media he is a genuine
and spontaneous poet. "United Impressions," by Mrs. E. L. Whitehead, is
clear, interesting, and well-written, as is also the sketch by Mary M.
Sisson entitled "Passion versus Calm." "The Elm Tree," by James Tobey
Pyke, is a poem of remarkable sweetness and nobility, through whose
lofty sentiment shines the true splendour of the inspired bard. There is
a master touch in the passage referring to
"----a sweet heaven
Of singing birds and whispering leaves."
Mrs. Winifred Virginia Jordan, without one of whose delightful verses no
amateur publication can really compete, contributes a sparkling
succession of amatory anapaests entitled "Dear." The middle stanza rises
to great lyric heights, and should prove especially captivating to such
discriminating critics of lyricism as our colleague Mr. Kleiner.
* * * * *