contribution; and deserves highest commendation both for its spirit and
for its construction.
"The Paramount Issue," by William T. Harrington, is a somewhat ambitious
attempt to trace the responsibility for the great war to alcoholic
liquor and its degenerative effect on mankind. The author even goes so
far as to say that "had man been represented in his true and noble form,
then war would have been impossible." Now although the present critic is
and always has been an ardent prohibitionist, he must protest at this
extravagant theory. Vast and far-reaching as are the known evil effects
of drink, it is surely transcending fact to accuse it of causing
mankind's natural greed, pride, and combative instincts, which lie at
the base of all warfare. It may, however, be justly suggested that much
of the peculiar bestiality of the Huns is derived from their swinish
addiction to beer. Technically, Mr. Harrington's essay is marked by few
crudities, and displays an encouraging fluency. Other pieces by Mr.
Harrington are "A Bit of My Diary," wherein the author relates his
regrettably brief military experience at Camp Dodge, and "Victory," a
stirring editorial.
"Black Sheep," by Edna Hyde, is an excellent specimen of blank verse by
our gifted laureate. Line 14 seems to lack a syllable, but this
deficiency is probably the result of a typographical error.
A word of praise is due the general appearance of the magazine. The
cover presents a refreshing bit of home-made pictorial art, whilst the
photograph of Corporal Harrington makes a most attractive frontispiece.
* * * * *
=The Pathfinder= for January is easily the best issue yet put forth by
its enterprising young editor. "Hope," which adorns the cover, is a poem
of much merit by Annie Pearce. The apparent lack of a syllable in line 2
of the third stanza is probably due to a printer's error whereby the
word =us= is omitted immediately after the word =for=.
"How and Why Roses Are White," by Margaret Mahon, is a fairy legend of
much charm and decided originality, which argues eloquently for its
author's imaginative scope and literary ability.
"Happiness in a Glove" is a very facile and pleasing rendering of a bit
of Spanish dialogue. Through a mistake, the authorship is credited to
the translator, Miss Ella M. Miller, though her own manuscript fully
proclaimed the text as a translation.
"Welcome, 1919," is a brief contemplative essay by Editor Glause; in
spirit admirable, but in phraseology showing some of the uncertainty of
youthful work. Mr. Glause might well pay more attention to compact
precision in his prose, using as few and as forceful words as possible
to express his meaning. For instance, his opening words would gain
greatly in strength if contracted to the following: "Now that a new year
is beginning." Farther down the page we find the word =namely= in a
place which impels us to question its use. Its total omission would
strengthen the sentence which contains it. Another point we must mention
is the excessive punctuation, especially the needless hyphenation of
=amateurdom= and =therefore=, and the apostrophe in the possessive
pronoun =its=. The form =it's= is restricted to the colloquial
contraction of "=it is="; the similarly spelled pronoun is written
solidly without an apostrophe. Additional notes by Mr. Glause are of
equal merit, and his reply to a recent article on travel is highly
sensible and commendable. He is a writer and thinker of much power, and
needs only technical training in order to develop into an essayist of
the first rank. As an editor he cannot be praised too highly for his
faithfulness in publishing his welcome and attractive quarterly.
* * * * *
=Pine Cones= for February well maintains the high standard set by Mr.
Pryor in his opening number. "Life, Death and Immortality," by Jonathan
E. Hoag, is a brief but appealing piece from the pen of a gifted and
venerable bard, and thoroughly deserves its place of honour on the
cover. On the next page occurs a metrical tribute to this sweet singer
on his 88th birthday, written by H. P. Lovecraft in the latter's typical
heroic strain.
"The Helpful Twins," a clever child story by Editor Pryor, is the prose
treat of the issue. It would, indeed, be hard to find more than one or
two equally interesting, human, and well-developed bits of fiction in
any current amateur periodicals. Not only are the characters drawn with
delightful naturalness, but there is real humour present; and the plot
moves on to its climax without a single instance of awkwardness or a
single intrusive or extraneous episode. In short, the story is almost a
model of its kind; one which ought to prove a success in a professional
as well as an amateur magazine. Mr. Pryor's humour is more broadly shown
in the smile-producing pseudo-anecdotes of "The Boy Washington."
The bit of unsigned verse, "A New Year Wish," is excellent, though we
question the advisability of having an Alexandrine for the final line.
"Comment Pryoristic" is always interesting, and that in the current
=Pine Cones= forms no exception to the rule. The appearance of this
vigorously alive and intelligently edited publication is proving a great
and gratifying factor in amateurdom's post-bellum renaissance.
* * * * *
=The Recruiter= for January marks the advent to amateurdom of a new
paper, which easily takes its place among the very best of recent
editorial enterprises. Edited by Misses Mary Faye Durr and L. Evelyn
Schump in the interest of the United recruits whom they are securing,
its thoroughly meritorious quality speaks well for the new members thus
added to our circle.
The issue opens auspiciously with a lyric poem of distinguished
excellence by Helen McFarland, entitled "A Casualty." In depth of
sentiment, fervour of expression, and correctness of construction, these
melodious lines leave little to be desired; and seem to indicate that
the United has acquired one more poet of the first rank.
"Billy," a character sketch by L. Evelyn Schump, introduces to the
Association a light essayist of unusual power and grace, whose work is
vividly natural through keen insight, apt and fluent expression, and
mastery of homely and familiar detail. The present sketch is
captivatingly lifelike and thoroughly well-written, arousing a response
from every lover of children.
"Winter," a brief poem by Hettie Murdock, celebrates in a pleasant way
an unpleasant season. The lines are notable for correctness, spontaneity
and vitality, though not in the least ambitious in scope.
Martha Charlotte Macatee's "Song of Nature" reveals its 12-year-old
creator as a genuine "Galpiness" (if we may coin a word which only
amateurs and Appletonians will understand). Mistress Macatee has
succeeded in infusing more than a modicum of really poetic atmosphere
and imagery into her short lyric, and may be relied upon to produce
important work in the coming years of greater maturity. The chief defect
of her present piece is the absence of rhyme, which should always occur
in a short stanzaic poem. Rhyming is not at all difficult after a little
practice, and we trust that the young writer will employ it in later
verses.
"Tarrytown," by Florence Fitzgerald, is a reminiscent poem of phenomenal
strength, marred only by a pair of false rhymes in the opening stanza.
Assonance must never be mistaken for true rhyme, and combinations like
=boats-float= or =them-brim= should be avoided. The imagery of this
piece is especially appealing, and testifies to its author's fertility
of fancy.
"Shades of Adam," by Mary Faye Durr, is an interesting and humorously
written account of the social side of our 1918 convention. Miss Durr is
exceptionally gifted in the field of apt, quiet, and laconic wit, and in
this informal chronicle neglects no opportunity for dryly amusing
comment on persons and events.
"Spring," by L. Evelyn Schump, is a refreshingly original poem in blank
verse, on a somewhat familiar subject. For inspiration and technique
alike, the piece merits enthusiastic commendation; though we may
vindicate our reputation as a fault-finding critic by asking why
alternate lines are indented despite the non-existence of alternate
rhymes.
=The Recruiter's= editorial column is brief and businesslike,
introducing the magazine as a whole, and its contributors individually.
Amateurdom is deeply indebted to the publishers of this delightful
newcomer, and it is to be hoped that they may continue their efforts;
both toward seeking recruits as high in quality as those here
represented, and toward issuing their admirable journal as frequently as
is feasible.
* * * * *
=The Silver Clarion= for January comes well up to the usual standard,
containing a number of pieces of considerable power. In "The Temple of
the Holy Ghost," Mr. Arthur Goodenough achieves his accustomed success
as a religious poet, presenting a variety of apt images, and clothing
them in facile metre. The only defect is a lack of uniformity in rhyming
plan. The poet, in commencing a piece like this, should decide whether
or not to rhyme the first and third lines of quatrains; and having
decided, should adhere to his decision. Instead, Mr. Goodenough omits
these optional rhymes in the first stanza and in the first half of the
third and fourth stanzas; elsewhere employing them. The result, while
not flagrantly inharmonious, nevertheless gives an impression of
imperfection, and tends to alienate the fastidious critic. Mr.
Goodenough possesses so great a degree of inspiration, and so wide an
array of allusions and imagery; that he owes it to himself to complete
the excellence of his vivid work with an unexceptionable technique.
"The Cross," a sonnet by Captain Theodore Draper Gottlieb, is dedicated
to the Red Cross, with which the author is serving so valiantly. In
thought and form this piece deserves unqualified praise.
"Death," by Andrew Francis Lockhart, exhibits our versatile Western bard
in sober mood. The poem contains that unmistakable stamp of genuine
emotion which we have come to associate with Mr. Lockhart's work, and is
technically faultless.
"Destiny," by W. F. Pelton, is a sonnet of smooth construction and
thorough excellence by one whom we know better as "Wilfrid Kemble."
The lines "To My Pal, Fred" present Mr. Harry E. Rieseberg, a new
member of the United who has for some time been a regular =Clarion=
contributor. In this piece Mr. Rieseberg falls somewhat below his usual
standard; for though the sentiment is appropriate, the metre is sadly
irregular. Mr. Rieseberg should count the syllables in his lines, for he
is a young poet of much promise, and should allow his technique to keep
pace with his genius.
"Faith," by Winifred V. Jordan, enunciates a familiar doctrine in
melodious and original metaphor, and well sustains the poetical
reputation of its celebrated author.
"The Song Unsung," by W. F. Booker, is a war poem in minor key, which
deserves much praise.
"You're Like a Willow," by Eugene B. Kuntz, is marked by that warmth of
fancy and wealth of imagery for which its author is noted.
"Thoughts," a courtly offering from the quill of James Laurence Crowley,
winds up the poetical part of the magazine; this month a very ample
part. In rhyme and metre this sentimental gem is quite satisfactory.
The only prose in this issue is Mr. Samples' well-written editorial on
"The Passing Year." Herein we find some really excellent passages,
savouring somewhat of the oratorical in style.
* * * * *
=The Silver Clarion= for February is of ample size and ample merit.
Opening the issue is an excellent poem in heroic couplets by Mrs. Stella
L. Tully of Mountmellick, Ireland, a new member of the United. Mrs.
Tully, whose best work is in a lyric and religious vein, is one endowed
with hereditary or family genius; as the Association no doubt
appreciated when reading the poetry of her gifted sister, Mrs. S. Lilian
McMullen of Newton Centre, in the preceding issue of THE UNITED AMATEUR.
The present piece by Mrs. Tully, "The Greatest of These is Love," is
based upon a Biblical text, and sets forth its ideas very effectively,
despite a few passages whose stiff construction betrays a slight
inexperience in the traditions of heroic verse.
"The Two Crosses," by Capt. Theodore Gottlieb, is also in heroics, and
graphically compares the most holy symbols of today and of nineteen
hundred years ago.
More of the religious atmosphere is furnished by John Milton Samples'
trochaic composition entitled "The Millennium"--from whose title, by the
way, one of the necessary n's is missing. In this pleasing picture of
an impossible age we note but three things requiring critical attention.
(1) The term "super-race" in stanza 5, is too technically philosophical
to be really poetic. (2) The rhyme of =victory= and =eternally= is not
very desirable, because both the rhyming syllables bear only a secondary
accent. (3) There is something grotesque and unconsciously comic in the
prophecy "Then the lamb shall kiss the lion." Such grotesqueness is not
to be found in the original words of Mr. Samples' predecessor and source
of inspiration, the well-known prophet Isaiah. (Vide Isaiah, xi: 6-7.)
"Nature Worship," by Arthur Goodenough, is one of the most meritorious
poems in the issue, despite some dubious grammar in the first stanza,
and an internal rhyme in the final stanza which has no counterpart in
the lines preceding. The first named error consists of a disagreement in
number betwixt subject and verb: "faith and form and ... mazes which ...
perplexes, dazes."
"The New Order," an essay by John Milton Samples, is an eloquent but
fantastically idealistic bit of speculation concerning the wonderful
future which dreamers picture as arising out of the recent war. To us,
there is a sort of pathos in these vain hopes and mirage-like visions of
an Utopia which can never be; yet if they can cheer anyone, they are
doubtless not altogether futile. Indeed, after the successive menaces of
the Huns and the Bolsheviki, we can call almost any future Utopian, if
it will but afford the comparative calm of pre-1914 days!
"No Night So Dark, No Day So Drear," by Mamie Knight Samples, is a poem
which reveals merit despite many crudities. The outstanding fault is
defective metre--Mrs. Samples should carefully count her syllables, and
repeat her lines aloud, to make sure of perfect scansion. Since the
intended metre appears to be iambic tetrameter, we shall here give a
revised rendering of the first stanza; showing how it can be made to
conform to that measure:
"No night so dark, no day so drear,
But we may sing our songs of cheer."
These words, borne from the world without,
Cheer'd a heart sick with grief and doubt.
O doubting soul, bow'd down so low,
If thou couldst feel, and only know
The darkness is in thee alone,
For grief and tears it would atone.
"No night so dark, no day so drear,
But we may sing our songs of cheer."
Let the authoress note that each line must have eight syllables--no
more, no less. For the trite ideas and hackneyed rhymes, nothing can be
recommended save a more observant and discriminating perusal of standard
poets. It must be kept in mind that the verse found in current family
magazines and popular hymn-books is seldom, if ever, true poetry. The
only authors suitable as models, are those whose names are praised in
histories of English literature.
W. F. Booker's "Song" is a delightful short lyric whose sentiment and
technique deserve naught but praise.
"When I Am Gone," a poem in pentameter quatrains by James Laurence
Crowley, contains the customary allotment of sweet sentiment, together
with some really commendable imagery. Mr. Crowley's genius will shine
brightly before long.
"The Path to Glory," by Andrew Francis Lockhart, is perhaps the poetic
gem of the issue. In this virile anapÊstic piece Mr. Lockhart sums up
all the horrors of the trenches in such a way that the reader may guess
at the extent of the sacrifice undergone by those who have given all for
their country.
In "Coconino Jim, Lumberjack," Mr. Harry E. Rieseberg shows himself a
true and powerful poet of the rugged, virile school of Kipling, Service,
Knibbs, and their analogues. The present piece is entirely correct in
rhyme and well-developed in thought, wanting only good metre to make it
perfect. This latter accomplishment Mr. Rieseberg should strive hard to
attain, for his poetry surely deserves as good a form as he can give it.
A word of praise should be given Mr. Samples' editorial, "The
Professional in Amateur Journalism," in which he shows the fallacy of
the plea for a cruder, more juvenile amateurdom, which often emanates
from members of the older and less progressive associations. As the
editor contends, intellectual evolution must occur; and the whole recent
career of the United demonstrates the value of a purely literary society
for genuine literary aspirants of every age and every stage of mental
development.
THE UNITED AMATEUR MAY 1919
Helene Hoffman Cole--Litterateur
Howard Phillips Lovecraft
Of the various authors who have contributed to the fame of our
Association, few can be compared in sustained ability and breadth of
interests to the late Helene Hoffman Cole. Represented in the press as a
poet, critic, essayist, and fiction-writer, Mrs. Cole achieved
distinction in all of these departments; rising during recent years to
an almost unique prominence in the field of book-reviewing. Her
compositions display a diversity of attainments and catholicity of taste
highly remarkable in one of so relatively slight an age, familiar
knowledge of foreign and archaic literature supplying a mature
background too seldom possessed by amateur authors.
It is as a poet that Mrs. Cole has been least known, since her verse was
not of frequent occurrence in the amateur press. A glance at the few
existing specimens, however, demonstrates conclusively that her poetical
gifts were by no means inconsiderable; and that had she chosen such a
course, she might easily have become one of the leading bards of the
United. Verse like the unnamed autumn pieces in =Leaflets= and =The
Hellenian= possess an aptness and cleverness of fancy which bespeak the
true poet despite trivial technical imperfections.
In fiction the extent of Mrs. Cole's genius was still further revealed,
nearly all her narratives moving along with impeccable grace and
fluency. Her plots were for the most part light and popular in nature,
and would have reflected credit on any professional writer of modern
magazine tales. Of her stories, "The Picture," appearing in =Leaflets=
for October, 1913, is an excellent example. More dramatic in quality is
"Her Wish," in the August, 1914, =Olympian=. This brief tragedy of a
Serbian and his bride is perhaps one of the very first tales written
around the World War.
But it is in the domain of the literary essay that this authoress rose
to loftiest altitude. Of wide and profound reading, and of keen and
discriminating mind, Mrs. Cole presented in a style of admirable grace
and lucidity her reactions to the best works of numerous standard
authors, ancient and modern, English and foreign. The value of such work
in amateurdom, extending the cultural outlook and displaying the outside
world as seen through the eyes of a gifted, respected, and
representative member, scarce needs the emphasis of the commentator. He
who can link the amateur and larger spheres in a pleasing and acceptable
fashion, deserves the highest approbation and panegyric that the United
can bestow. Notable indeed are Mrs. Cole's sound reviews of Sir Thomas
Browne's "Hydriotaphia" in THE UNITED AMATEUR, of "Pelle, the Conqueror"
in =The Tryout=, and of numerous South American works but little known
to Northern readers. Of equal merit are such terse and delightful essays
as "M. Tullius Cicero, Pater Patriae," where the essayist invests a
classical theme with all the living charm of well-restrained
subjectivity. The style of these writings is in itself captivating; the
vocabulary containing enough words of Latin derivation to rescue it from
the Boeotian harshness typical of this age. All that has been said of
Mrs. Cole's broader reviews may be said of her amateur criticism, much
of which graced the columns of =The Olympian= and other magazines.
The exclusively journalistic skill of Mrs. Cole now remains to be
considered, and this we find as brilliant as her other attainments. As
the editor of numerous papers during every stage of her career, she
exhibited phenomenal taste and enterprise; never failing to create
enthusiasm and evoke encomium with her ventures both individual and
co-operative. Her gift for gathering, selecting and writing news was
quite unexampled. As the reporter =par excellence= of both associations,
she was the main reliance of other editors for convention reports and
general items; all of which were phrased with an ease, urbanity, and
personality that lent them distinctiveness. Not the least of her
qualities was a gentle and unobtrusive humour which enlivened her
lighter productions. Amateurdom will long remember the quaint piquancy
of the issues of =The Martian= which she cleverly published in the name
of her infant son.
During these latter days nearly every amateur has expressed a kind of
incredulity that Mrs. Cole can indeed be no more, and in this the
present writer must needs share. To realise that her gifted pen has
ceased to enrich our small literary world requires a painful effort on
the part of everyone who has followed her brilliant progress in the
field of letters. The United loses more by her sudden and untimely
demise than can well be reckoned at this moment.
THE UNITED AMATEUR JULY 1919
Americanism
Howard Phillips Lovecraft
Laureate
It is easy to sentimentalise on the subject of "the American
spirit"--what it is, may be, or should be. Exponents of various novel
political and social theories are particularly given to this practice,
nearly always concluding that "true Americanism" is nothing more or less
than a national application of their respective individual doctrines.
Slightly less superficial observers hit upon the abstract principle of
"Liberty" as the keynote of Americanism, interpreting this justly
esteemed principle as anything from Bolshevism to the right to drink
2.75 per cent. beer. "Opportunity" is another favourite byword, and one
which is certainly not without real significance. The synonymousness of
"America" and "opportunity" has been inculcated into many a young head
of the present generation by Emerson via Montgomery's "Leading Facts of
American History." But it is worthy of note that nearly all would-be
definers of "Americanism" fail through their prejudiced unwillingness to
trace the quality to its European source. They cannot bring themselves
to see that abiogenesis is as rare in the realm of ideas as it is in the
kingdom of organic life; and consequently waste their efforts in trying
to treat America as if it were an isolated phenomenon without ancestry.