Morris Widdows, Hoosier exponent of rural simplicity. Mr. Widdows has
enjoyed considerable success in the professional world as a poet,
song-writer, and musical composer; hence it is no untried or faltering
quill which he brings within our midst. "Stringtown on the Pike," which
adorns the first page of the magazine, is a very pleasing bit of dialect
verse whose accent and cadences suggest the work of the late James
Whitcomb Riley. The metre is gratifyingly correct, and the rusticisms
exceedingly colourful; though the average reader might find it somewhat
difficult to associate the name Miko with Yankee countryside. Such a
praenomen carries with it suggestions of a rich brogue rather than a
nasal drawl. "Personal Liberty," a brilliant short essay by Leo Fritter,
ably and sensibly explodes one of the characteristically specious
arguments of the liquor advocates. Mr. Fritter's legal training aids him
in presenting a clear, polished, and logical arraignment of
anti-prohibition hypocrisy. "Just a Little Love Tale," by Elizabeth M.
Ballou, is a smoothly constructed bit of very light fiction. Mrs.
Haughton's editorial, "A Review of Reviews," is concise and sensible;
giving a merited rebuke to those who seek to create unrest and
dissatisfaction in amateur journalism.
* * * * *
=The Woodbee= for April is an ample and attractive number, opening with
Dora H. Moitoret's excellent poem in the heroic couplet, "The April
Maiden." The metre of this piece follows the fashion of the nineteenth
rather than of the eighteenth century, having very few "end-stopt" lines
or sense-limiting couplets. The final rhyme of =caprice= and =these= is
somewhat imperfect, the effect being that of an attempted rhyme of =s=
and =z=. "Her Fateful Day," a short story by Maude Dolby, is pleasing
and ingenious despite certain improbabilities. "Ashes of Roses," by
Frieda M. Sanger, belongs to that abnormal and lamentable type of
pseudo-literature known as =vers libre=, and is the first serious
specimen of its kind ever inflicted upon the United. We are sincerely
sorry that one so gifted as Miss Sanger should descend to this hybrid,
makeshift medium, when she could so well express her thoughts either in
legitimate prose or legitimate verse. "Free Verse" has neither the flow
of real verse nor the dignity of real prose. It tends to develop
obnoxious eccentricities of expression, and is closely associated with
bizarre and radical vagaries of thought. It is in nine cases out of ten
a mere refuge of the obtuse, hurried, indolent, ignorant, or negligent
bard who cannot or will not take the time and pains to compose genuine
poetry or even passable verse. It has absolutely no justification for
existence, and should be shunned by every real aspirant to literary
excellence, no matter how many glittering inducements it seems to hold
out. True, a person of very little knowledge or ability can make himself
appear extremely cultured, aesthetic, and aristocratic by juggling a few
empty words in the current fashion; scribbling several lines of unequal
length, each beginning with a capital letter. It is an admirably easy
way to acquire a literary reputation without much effort. As the late
W. S. Gilbert once wrote of a kindred fad:
"The meaning doesn't matter
If it's only idle chatter
Of a transcendental kind."
But we believe that the members of the United are more earnest and solid
in their ambition, hence we advise Miss Sanger to turn her undoubted
talent into more substantial channels. That she possesses genuine poetic
genius is amply evident, even from the specimen of =vers libre= before
us. The labour of real versification will be more arduous, but the
fruits will prove richer in proportion. It is better to glean a little
gold than much fools' gold. Miss Sanger's nephew, Mr. Norman Sanger, is
more conservative in his tastes, and is creditably represented by his
lines on "The Ol' Fishin' Hole." This piece contains many of the
rhythmical defects common to juvenile composition, but is pervaded by a
naturalness and pastoral simplicity which promise well for its young
author. Wider reading and closer rhetorical study will supply all that
Mr. Sanger now lacks. At present we should advise him to seek metrical
regularity by taking some one well defined line as a model, and moulding
all the others to it by counting the syllables and intoning the accents
in each. In the case of the present poem, the very first line will serve
as a perfect guide; its conformity to the iambic heptameter plan being
absolute. The alternating stresses of the fourteen syllables should be
noted and copied:
"The =days= are =get=-tin' =balm=-y =now=, and =first=-est =thing=
you =know=."
Two defects of rhyme are to be noted. =By= and =lullaby= cannot properly
be rhymed, since the rhyming syllables are =identical=, instead of
merely =similar=. "=Rapcher=" and =laughter= do not rhyme at all. Miss
Haughton's essay "Is a Lie Ever Justifiable?" forms a prominent feature
of the magazine, and presents some very ingenious though dogmatic
reasoning. Mrs. Haughton's editorial, "United We Stand," is an
exceedingly timely appeal for genuine amateur activity, and should be of
much value in stimulating a renaissance of the Association. The passage
reading "Who has been the latest victim of Cupid? =Whom= of Hymen?"
arouses a query as to the grammatical status of =whom=. We fear this is
what Franklin P. Adams of the =New York Tribune= playfully calls a
"=Cyrilization=." It is, as all readers of "The Conning Tower" can
testify, a remarkably common error; and one into which many of the
leading authors of the age frequently fall. The jingle "A Soldier's
Delight," by George William Stokes, concludes the current issue in
tuneful manner.
Amidst the present dearth of amateur magazines it is ever a delight to
behold =The Woodbee=; meritorious in contents and regular in issuance.
The debt of the United to the Columbus Club is indeed a heavy one.
H. P. LOVECRAFT,
Chairman.
THE UNITED AMATEUR
OFFICIAL ORGAN OF THE UNITED AMATEUR PRESS ASSOCIATION
VOLUME XVI GEORGETOWN, ILL., JULY, 1917 NUMBER 9
ODE FOR JULY FOURTH, 1917
As Columbia's brave scions, in anger array'd,
Once defy'd a proud monarch and built a new nation;
'Gainst their brothers of Britain unsheath'd the sharp blade
That hath ne'er met defeat nor endur'd desecration;
So must we in this hour
Show our valour and pow'r,
And dispel the black perils that over us low'r:
Whilst the sons of Britannia, no longer our foes,
Will rejoice in our triumphs and strengthen our blows!
See the banners of Liberty float in the breeze
That plays light o'er the regions our fathers defended;
Hear the voice of the million resound o'er the leas,
As the deeds of the past are proclaim'd and commended;
And in splendour on high
Where our flags proudly fly,
See the folds we tore down flung again to the sky:
For the Emblem of England, in kinship unfurl'd,
Shall divide with Old Glory the praise of the world!
Bury'd now are the hatreds of subject and King,
And the strife that once sunder'd an Empire hath vanish'd.
With the fame of the Saxon the heavens shall ring
As the vultures of darkness are baffled and banish'd:
And the broad British sea,
Of her enemies free,
Shall in tribute bow gladly, Columbia, to thee:
For the friends of the Right, in the field side by side,
Form a fabric of Freedom no hand can divide!
H. P. LOVECRAFT.
DEPARTMENT OF PUBLIC CRITICISM
=The Conservative= for July opens with Ira A. Cole's delightful and
melodious lines "In Vita Elysium" (Heaven in Life), which present a
strong arraignment of those conventional theologians who deem all things
beautiful reserved for a vague existence after death. While the orthodox
reader may deem the flight of the imagination too free, the rational and
appreciative litterateur will delight in the vigour of imagination and
delicacy of fancy displayed. The metrical structure is beyond reproach
in taste and fluency, the regular and spirited heroic couplets affording
a refreshing contrast to the harsh and languid measures of the day. Mr.
Cole's poetical future is bright indeed, for he possesses an innate
conception of fitness and poetic values which too few of his
contemporaries can boast. We wish to emphasize to those readers who are
familiar with =The Conservative's= editorial policy, that the lines
appear practically without revision; every bold conception and stroke of
genius being Mr. Cole's own. Two couplets in particular delight the ear
and the imagination, proving the author's claim to distinction as a poet
of the purest classical type:
"Go! Go! vain man, to those unbounded fanes
Where God's one proven priest--fair Nature--reigns."
"Uplifted, glad, thy spirit then shall know
That life is light, and heaven's here below!"
"The Genesis of the Revolutionary War," by Henry Clapham McGavack, is
one of those searchingly keen bits of iconoclastic analysis which have
made Mr. McGavack so famous as an essayist since his advent to the
United. Our author here explodes conclusively a large body of bombastic
legend which false textbooks have inflicted upon successive generations
of innocent American youth. We are shown beyond a doubt that the
Revolution of 1776 was no such one-sided affair as the petty political
"historians" would have us believe, and that our Mother Country indeed
had a strong case before the bar of International justice. It is an
article which makes us doubly proud of our racial and cultural
affiliations.
"Sweet Frailty," a poem by Mary Henrietta Lehr, contains all those
elements of charm, delicacy, and ingenuity which mark its author as one
of amateurdom's most cultivated and gifted members.
Of the editorial column modesty forbids us to speak, but we hope the
amateur public may be duly charitable with our shortcomings as therein
displayed.
* * * * *
=The Inspiration= for April is a "Tribute Number," dedicated to the
amateur journalists of Great Britain and Canada who have devoted their
lives and fortunes to the cause of civilisation and the Empire. With so
wonderfully inspiring a subject, it is small wonder that the magazine
lives gloriously up to its name. Miss von der Heide shows extreme skill
and sympathy in the editorship of the publication, and in the verses
which she contributes; proving herself worthy indeed of the high place
she has occupied in amateurdom for so many years.
"The Lion's Brood," by Henry Clapham McGavack, exhibits the versatility
of this brilliant writer; for though he is by preference a concise
essayist, he here rises to great heights in the domain of rhetorical
panegyric. His stirring encomium is ingeniously continued by Mr. William
T. Harrington, who adds many merited words of praise for our kindred
across the seas. The present critic's lines are as full of heartfelt
love of England as they are wanting in merit; while the lines of Olive
G. Owen possess both deep fervour and conspicuous merit. Mrs. Griffith's
tribute, "He Conquers who Endures," breathes out the true spirit of the
American nation today, anticipating the official action of a cautious
and slow-moving government. The "Open Letters" of Messrs. Macauley,
Stokes and Martin, speak the brave spirit of the age, and make us the
more sharply regretful of our own rejection for military service.
"Treasure," by Miss von der Heide, is an appealing bit of sentiment,
whose interest is timely indeed.
Viewed as a whole, =The Inspiration= takes first rank amongst the
amateur papers published since March.
* * * * *
=The Little Budget= for May opens with Paul J. Campbell's meritorious
poem entitled "Signals." Mr. Campbell, always facile in metre, exhibits
increasing power in the realm of poetical imagination, and is entitled
to a substantial place on the slopes of Parnassus. A misprint in the
present version of "Signals" gives =look= when =looked= should appear.
"The Adventures of 'Dido' Plum," by Joseph Parks, is a pleasing story of
military life by one who is himself a soldier. Mr. Parks' brief sketches
form a pleasing feature of the contemporary amateur press, being
distinguished by a naturalness which intensifies their interest as
literal transcripts of the army atmosphere. "Road Song," a tuneful lyric
by Eleanor J. Barnhart, marks the first appearance of that brilliant
author as a poet. Her inexperience in this art, however, is not at all
to be suspected from this fervent and finished composition; which might
well do credit to some of our veteran bards. "Impulse," by Norah Sloane
Stanley, is described as "A Parisian Fragment," and exhibits much
ingenuity in spirit and atmosphere. "Keep a Cheerful Countenance," by
Eugene B. Kuntz, is a poem of great merit despite the doubtful rhyme of
=way= and =quality= in the last stanza. Miss Mappin, in her article on
Milton, displays her ample knowledge of literary history, and even more
than her customary fluency. "The Contented Robin," a poem by Margaret
Mahon, is apt, pleasing and harmonious; whilst Miss Trafford's brief
jingle is quaint and clever. "Spring," by Randolph Trafford (aetat 10)
is full of the exuberant vigour of youth, and speaks well for the future
of this bright young bard.
* * * * *
=The Little Budget= for June gains distinction from Henry Clapham
McGavack's brilliant essay on American Anglophobia, entitled "Blood is
not Thicker Than Water." This acute analysis of anti-British sentiment
among certain classes in the States reveals a lamentable result of
bigotry and historical ignorance; which may, we hope, be cured by the
new bonds of alliance betwixt the Old and the New Englands. As Mr.
McGavack well demonstrates, most of our Anglophobia is manufactured by
the alleged "historians" who poison the minds of the young through
mendacious textbooks. This species of false teaching, an evil potently
fostered by the Fenians and Sinn Feiners who lurk serpent-like in our
midst, is one which cannot too soon be eradicated; for the cultural
identity and moral unity of the States and the Empire make such sources
of unintelligent prejudice increasingly nauseous and detrimental. We may
add that the textbook treatment of our War between the States is almost
equally unfair, the Northern cause being ridiculously exalted above the
brave and incredibly high-minded attitude of the Confederacy.
Another delightful prose contribution is "Back to Blighty," by Joseph
Parks, a vivid vignette of one phase of military life. "Trinidad and its
Forests," by F. E. M. Hercules, is marked by its author's customary ease
of expression and felicity of diction; presenting many facts of general
interest. The poetry in this issue includes work from the pens of J. E.
Hoag, H. P. Lovecraft, Rev. Eugene B. Kuntz, Beryl Mappin, and the
Editor. Dr. Kuntz's lines to the memory of Phillips Gamwell are animated
with a nobility which well befits their subject, though the rhyme of
=day= and =melody= is not strictly correct. Few amateur poets are able
to achieve the sonorous dignity which Dr. Kuntz imparts to his flowing
Alexandrines, or to select with equal appropriateness the vivid and
musical words that so irresistibly delight the ear and impress the
imagination. Miss Mappin's metrical effort, entitled "Only a Thought,"
betrays some of the crudities of youth; including the attempted rhyme of
=alone= and =home=. The metre, phraseology, and plan of rhyming demand
extensive revision, the following being a possible amended version of
the piece:
As sad and alone in a distant land
I sat by the dismal shore,
My chin laid pensively in my hand,
And my dreams all of home once more;
I watch'd and mus'd o'er the sunless sea,
And study'd the cruel foam;
For the waves bore an exile's woe to me,
From my kindred forc'd to roam.
But lo! floating light upon the wind
And murm'ing o'er ocean crest,
Come the thoughts of those I left behind,
Bringing comfort and love and rest.
Only a word--aye, only a thought!
Each speeds like a heav'n-sent dart;
Who can measure the gladness and aid they've brought--
These thoughts--to the breaking heart?
The first line of the original, "=Far away= in a =distant= land," is
lamentably pleonastic; whilst the identity or intended identity of the
second and fourth rhymes is undesirable. In a verse of this type, it is
not well to repeat a rhyme immediately. In the second stanza the first
and third lines and the fifth and seventh are unrhymed, a variation from
the original design which is not sanctioned by custom. Once a poet
decides on his metre and plan of rhyme, he should maintain them
unchanged throughout the poem. In the foregoing revised version, all
these defects have been remedied. Miss Trafford's poem, "After a Dream,"
shows much promise both technically and in the thought. The final line
of the first stanza, "And the joy it contains is much," is very weak;
and should be changed to read: "And of joy it contains so much." In
writing the definite article, Miss Trafford mistakenly uses the
contracted form =th'= when full syllabic value is to be given. This
contraction is employed only when the article is metrically placed as a
proclitic before another word, and is thereby shorn of its separate
pronunciation as follows:
=Th' ambitious= bard a nobler theme essays.
The illustrated bit of humor by George William Stokes deserves mention
as presenting one of the cleverest drawings to appear lately in the
amateur press. It is difficult to decide in which domain Mr. Stokes
shines the more brightly, literature or pictorial art. His heading for
=The Little Budget= is a masterpiece of its kind.
* * * * *
=The Pippin= for May brings once more to our notice amateurdom's
foremost high-school club, the Appleton aggregation, whose existence is
due to Mr. Maurice W. Moe's untiring efforts. "Doings of the Pippins,"
by Joseph Harriman, is a terse and informing chronicle of recent
activity. "Once Upon a Time," by Florence A. Miller, is a bit of
humorous verse whose metre might be improved by the use of greater care.
"Some Cloth!," by John Ingold, is an exceedingly clever piece of wit;
which, though avowedly Irish, bears the characteristic hall-mark of
native American humor. The delightful exaggerations recall some of the
brightest spots in American light literature. "Speed," by Matilda
Harriman, is an interesting sketch recalling Poe's "Mellonta Tauta," in
its imaginative flights. "From Over the Threshold," by Ruth Ryan, shows
much promise in the realm of fiction. "Once an Amateur, Always an
Amateur" is one of those rare bits of prose with which our distinguished
Critical member, Mr. Moe, favours us. We are proud of the unshaken
amateur allegiance of so brilliant a personality, and trust that some
day he may realise his dream of "an attic or basement printshop." "The
Press Club," by Ruth Schumaker, is a pleasing sketch, as is also Miss
Kelly's "Our Club and the United." We trust that the Appleton Club may
safely weather the hard times of which Miss Kelly complains.
* * * * *
THE UNITED AMATEUR for May contains a captivating and graceful sketch by
W. Edwin Gibson, entitled "Beauty." Mr. Gibson is one of our younger
members who bids fair to become prominent in the coming amateur
generation. Of the month's poetry, we may mention with particular
commendation Miss von der Heide's "Worship," though through some error,
possibly typographical, the final line of the second stanza seems to
lack two syllables. "When Dreams Come True," by Kathleen Foster Smith,
is likewise of more than common merit, though the word =hear= in the
second line of the second stanza is probably a misprint for =heard=.
"Smile," by O. M. Blood, is ingenious though scarcely novel. Its chief
defects are inequalities in the lines, which care should be able to
correct. The first line contains two superfluous syllables, while the
fourth line contains one too many. The ninth line of the final section
contains two syllables too many, as do the tenth and eleventh lines as
well. The rhyme of =appear= and =disappear= is incorrect, since
syllables in rhyme should be merely similar--not the same. Mr. Blood
requires much practice in poetry, but undoubtedly possesses the germ of
success. "To the U. A. P. A.," by Matthew Hilson, is acceptable in
construction and delightful in sentiment, laying strata on the new
Anglo-American unity--the one redeeming feature of the present
international crisis. THE UNITED AMATEUR closes with a quotation from
Euripides, which we will not attempt to review here, since the author
has been receiving critical attention from far abler men for many
centuries!
H. P. LOVECRAFT,
Chairman.
NEWS NOTES
Maurice W. Moe, Chief of our Department of Private Criticism, is trying
a novel experiment this summer for the sake of his health. He has
undertaken a labourer's work on one of the new buildings of Lawrence
College, lifting planks, shovelling mud, and wheeling bags of cement
like a seasoned workingman. While painful at first, the regimen is
proving actually beneficial, and Mr. Moe is proud of the physical
prowess he is beginning to exhibit. One of our amateur poetasters
recently perpetrated the following four lines on the unusual occurrence
of a learned instructor working manually upon a college building:
To M. W. M.
Behold the labourer, who builds the walls
That soon shall shine as Learning's sacred halls;
A man so apt at ev'ry art and trade,
He well might govern what his hands have made!
_THE
UNITED AMATEUR_
OFFICIAL ORGAN OF THE UNITED AMATEUR PRESS ASSOCIATION
VOLUME XVII ATHOL, MASS., NOVEMBER, 1917 NUMBER 2
A Reminiscence of Dr. Samuel Johnson
Humphry Littlewit, Esq.
The Privilege of Reminiscence, however rambling or tiresome, is one
generally allow'd to the very aged; indeed, 'tis frequently by means of
such Recollections that the obscure occurrences of History, and the
lesser Anecdotes of the Great, are transmitted to Posterity.
Tho' many of my readers have at times observ'd and remark'd a Sort of
antique Flow in my Stile of Writing, it hath pleased me to pass amongst
the Members of this Generation as a young Man, giving out the Fiction
that I was born in 1890, in =America=. I am now, however, resolv'd to
unburthen myself of a secret which I have hitherto kept thro' Dread of
Incredulity; and to impart to the Publick a true knowledge of my long
years, in order to gratifie their taste for authentick Information of an
Age with whose famous Personages I was on familiar Terms. Be it then
known that I was born on the family Estate in =Devonshire=, of the 10th
day of August, 1690, (or in the new =Gregorian= Stile of Reckoning, the
20th of August) being therefore now in my 228th year. Coming early to
=London=, I saw as a Child many of the celebrated Men of King
=William's= Reign, including the lamented Mr. =Dryden=, who sat much at
the Tables of =Will's= Coffee-House. With Mr. =Addison= and Dr. =Swift=
I later became very well acquainted, and was an even more familiar
Friend to Mr. =Pope=, whom I knew and respected till the Day of his
Death. But since it is of my more recent Associate, the late Dr.
=Johnson=, that I am at this time desir'd to write; I will pass over my
Youth for the present.
I had first Knowledge of the Doctor in May of the year 1738, tho' I did
not at that Time meet him. Mr. =Pope= had just compleated his Epilogue
to his Satires, (the Piece beginning: "Not twice a Twelvemonth you
appear in Print.") and had arrang'd for its Publication. On the very Day
it appear'd, there was also publish'd a Satire in Imitation of
=Juvenal=, entituled "=London=," by the then unknown =Johnson=; and this
so struck the Town, that many Gentlemen of Taste declared, it was the
Work of a greater Poet than Mr. =Pope=. Notwithstanding what some
Detractors have said of Mr. =Pope's= petty Jealousy, he gave the Verses
of his new Rival no small Praise; and having learnt thro' Mr.
=Richardson= who the Poet was, told me, "that Mr. =Johnson= wou'd soon
be =deterre=."
I had no personal Acquaintances with the Doctor till 1763, when I was
presented to him at the =Mitre= Tavern by Mr. =James Boswell=, a young
=Scotchman= of excellent Family and great Learning, but small Wit, whose
metrical Effusions I had sometimes revis'd.