THE UNITED AMATEUR SEPTEMBER 1916
DEPARTMENT OF PUBLIC CRITICISM
=The Amateur Special= for July is a voluminous magazine of credentialsand other work of new members, edited by Mrs. E. L. Whitehead, retiringEastern Manuscript Manager, with the assistance of the RecruitingCommittee. Of all papers lately issued in the United, this is withoutdoubt among the most valuable and most significant; since it is thepioneer of the new regime, whereby the talent of all our membership isto be brought out by better publishing facilities. Mrs. Whitehead, withnotable generosity, has reserved for herself but one page, on which wefind a clever and correct bit of verse, and a number of gracefulacknowledgments and useful suggestions. The contents in general are wellcalculated to display the thorough literary excellence and supremacy ofthe United in its present condition; for in this collection of stories,poems, and articles, taken practically at random from the manuscriptbureaus, there is scarce a line unworthy of commendation.
"Tatting", by Julian J. Crump, is a fluent and graceful colloquialsketch. "Mother and Child", by J. E. Hoag, is a sombre and thoughtfulpoem having a certain atmosphere of mysticism. The metre, which is wellhandled, consists of regular iambic pentameter quatrains with a coupletat the conclusion. An annoying misprint mars the first stanza, where"=sigh=" is erroneously rendered as "=sight=". "Homesick for theSpring", a poem by Bessie Estelle Harvey, displays real merit in thoughtand construction alike. "Mother Earth", by Rev. E. P. Parham, is a welladorned little essay in justification of the traditional saying that"the earth is mother of us all". George M. Whiteside, a new member ofthe United, makes his first appearance before us as a poet in "TheLittle Freckled Face Kid". Mr. Whiteside's general style is not unlikethat of the late James Whitcomb Riley, and its prevailing air of homelyyet pleasing simplicity is well maintained. "To Chloris", by ChesterPierce Munroe, is a smooth and melodious amatory poem of the Kleinerschool. The imagery is refined, and the polish of the whole amplyjustifies the inevitable triteness of the theme. The word "=adorns=", innext the last line, should read "=adorn=". "A Dream", by Helen HarrietSalls, is a hauntingly mystical succession of poetic images cast inappropriate metre. The natural phenomena of the morning are vividlydepicted in a fashion possible only to the true poet. The printer hasdone injustice to this exquisite phantasy in three places. In the firststanza "=wonderous=" should read "=wondrous=", while in the seventhstanza "=arient=" should be "=orient=". "=Thou'st=", in the eleventhstanza, should be "=Thou'rt=". "Prayers", a religious poem by Rev.Robert L. Selle, D. D., displays the classic touch of the eighteenthcentury in its regular octosyllabic couplets, having some resemblance tothe work of the celebrated Dr. Watts. "Snow of the Northland", by M.Estella Shufelt, is a religious poem of different sort, whose tunefuldactylic quatrains contain much noble and appropriate metaphor. In thefinal line the word "=re-cleaned=" should read "=re-cleansed=". "InPassing By", by Sophie Lea Fox, is a meritorious poem of the thoughtful,introspective type, which has been previously honoured with professionalpublication. "A Time to Sing", by M. B. Andrews, introduces to theUnited another genuine poet of worth. The lines are happy in inspirationand finished in form, having only one possible defect, the use of"=heralding=" as a dissyllable. "The Stately Mountains", by Rev. EugeneB. Kuntz, D. D., is a notable contribution to amateur poetic literature.Dr. Kuntz chooses as his favourite metre the stately Alexandrine; andusing it in a far more flexible and ingenious manner than that ofDrayton, he manages to achieve a dignified and exalted atmospherevirtually impossible in any other measure. The even caesural break socommon to Alexandrines, and so often urged by critics as an objectionagainst them, is here avoided with great ingenuity and good taste. Dr.Kuntz's sentiments and phrases are as swelling and sublime as one mightexpect from his metre. His conception of Nature is a broad and nobleone, and his appreciation of her beauties is that of the innate poet."An April Memory" acquaints us with W. Frank Booker, a gifted lyristwhose lines possess all the warmth, witchery and grace of his nativeSouthland. James J. Hennessey, in his essay on "The Army in Times ofPeace", exhibits very forcibly the various indispensable services soquietly and efficiently performed by the United States Army in every-daylife. Mr. Hennessey makes plain the great value of having among us abody of keen, versatile, and well-trained men ready for duty of anysort, and ever alert for their country's welfare in peace or in war. TheAmerican Soldier well deserves Mr. Hennessey's tribute, and the presentessay adds one more to the already incontrovertible array of argumentsin favour of an adequate military system. As printed, the article ismarred by a superfluous letter "=s=" on the very last word, which shouldread "=citizen=". "Sowing the Good", a brief bit of moralizing by HoraceFowler Goodwin, contains a serious misprint, for the final word of line1, stanza 2, should be "=say=". "Bobby's Literary Lesson", by Gladys L.Bagg, is a delightful specimen of domestic satire in prose. The handlingof the conversation exhibits Miss Bagg as a writer of considerable skilland promise. "The Leaf", a clever poem of Nature by Emily Barksdale,contains some gruesome atrocities by the printer. In the second stanza"=it's=" should be "=it=", and "=wonderous=" should be "=wondrous=". Inthe third stanza the typographical artist has killed a pretty woodland"=copse=" with the letter "=r=", so that it reads "=corpse="! In thefourth stanza "=head=" should read "=heard=". Perhaps the "=r=" whichmurdered the "=copse=" escaped from this sadly mutilated word! In stanzafive, "=Chaots=" should be "=chants=". But why continue the painfulchronicle? Mr. Kleiner said just what we would like to say aboutmisprints over a year ago, when he wrote "The Rhyme of the HaplessPoet"! "Submission", by Eugene B. Kuntz, is a delightful bit of lightprose, forming the autobiography of a much-rejected manuscript. Thispiece well exhibits Dr. Kuntz's remarkable versatility. The humour iskeen, and nowhere overstrained. "Number 1287", a short story by GraciaIsola Yarbrough, exhibits many of the flaws of immature work, yetcontains graphic touches that promise well for the author. The lack ofunity in plot and development detracts somewhat from the general effect,while the unusual lapses of time and artificial working up of the latersituations are also antagonistic to technical polish. Triteness ispresent, but that is to be expected in all amateur fiction. "A Drama ofBusiness", by Edgar Ralph Cheyney, is a terse bit of prose which mightwell serve as an editorial in a liberal literary magazine. "The Schoolsof Yesterday and Today", a sketch by Selma Guilford, presents inpleasing fashion an interesting and optimistic contrast. In "Mother",George M. Whiteside treats a noble theme in rather skilful fashion,though the rhyming of "=breezes=" and "=trees is=" can hardly be deemedsuitable in a serious poem. "When the Sea Calls", a poem by WinifredVirginia Jordan, is possibly the most striking feature of the magazine.Mrs. Jordan's style in dealing with the wilder aspects of Nature has agrim potency all its own, and we can endorse without qualification thejudgment of Mr. Moe when he calls this poem "positively magnificent indynamic effect". To Mrs. Jordan is granted a natural poetic genius whichfew other amateurs can hope to parallel. Not many of our literaryartists can so aptly fit words to weird or unusual passages, or sohappily command all the advantages of alliteration and onomatopoeia. Webelieve that Mrs. Jordan's amateur eminence will eventually ripen intoprofessional recognition. "Preachers in Politics", by Rev. James ThomasSelf, is a long, thoughtful, and extremely well phrased essay againstthe descent of the ministry to the uncertain affairs of practicallegislation. Dr. Self has a just idea of the dignity of the cloth; anidea which some clergymen of less conservative habits would do well toacquire. Very painful is the sight of the slang-mouthing "evangelist"who deserts his pulpit for the stump or the circus-tent. "Peace,Germany!", a poem by Maude Kingsbury Barton, constitutes an appeal tothe present outlaw among nations. We feel, however, that it is only fromLondon that Germany will eventually be convinced of the futility of herpseudo-Napoleonic enterprise. And when peace does come to Germany, itwill be British-made peace! The structure of Mrs. Barton's poem isregular, and many of the images are very well selected. The worstmisprints are those in the sixth stanza, where "=in=" is omitted beforethe word "=pomp=", and in the sev
enth stanza where "=come=" is printedas "=came=". In the biographical sketch entitled "Two Lives", HelenHamilton draws a powerful moral from the contrasting but contemporaneouscareers of Florence Nightingale and the ex-Empress Eugenie. "Class-RoomSpirits I Have Known", an essay by Bessie Estelle Harvey, displays asound comprehension of pedagogical principles. Two more poems by Mrs.Jordan conclude the issue. "The Time of Peach Tree Bloom" is the fourthof the "Songs from Walpi", three of which appeared in THE UNITEDAMATEUR. "In a Garden" is a gem of delightful delicacy and etherealelegance. It is indeed not without just cause that the author has, fromthe very first, held the distinction of being the most frequent poeticalcontributor in all amateur journalism.
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=The Cleveland Sun= for June is the first number of an amateur newspaperedited by Anthony F. Moitoret, Edwin D. Harkins, and William J. Dowdell;and remarkable for an excellent heading, drawn by a staff artist of the=Cleveland Leader=. The present issue is printed in close imitation ofthe modern professional daily, and displays some interesting examples of"newspaper English". Mr. Moitoret is an old-time United man, nowreentering the sphere of activity, and he is to be commended warmly bothfor his generous attitude toward the new members, and for his reallymagnanimous offer of aid to those desirous of issuing individual papers.His editorial hostility toward the Campbell amendment is, we believe,mistaken; yet is none the less founded on a praiseworthy desire to servewhat he deems the best interests of the Association. Were Mr. Moitoretmore in touch with the rising ideals of the newer United, he wouldrealize the essential childishness of our "official business" ascontrasted with the substantial solidity of our developing literature.Possibly the plan of Mr. Campbell, as experimentally tried during thepresent year, will alter Mr. Moitoret's present opinion. Takenaltogether, we are not sure whether the =Sun= will prove beneficial orharmful to the United. We most assuredly need some sort of stimulus toactivity, yet the comparatively crude atmosphere of newspaperdom isanything but inspiring in a literary society. We cannot descend from theideals of Homer to those of Hearst without a distinct loss of quality,for which no possible gain in mere enthusiasm can compensate. Headlinessuch as "Columbus Bunch Boosting Paul" or "Hep Still Shows Pep", arepositive affronts to the dignity of amateur journalism. There is roomfor an alert and informing news sheet in the United, yet we feel certainthat the =Sun= must become a far more sedate and scholarly publicationbefore it can adequately supply the need. At present, its garish raysdazzle and blind more than they illuminate; in a perusal of its pages weexperience more of =sunstroke= than of =sunshine=. Of "The Best SportPage In Amateurdom" we find it difficult to speak or write. Not sinceperusing the delectable lines of "Tom Crib's Memorial to Congress", byjovial old "Anacreon Moore", have we beheld such an invasion ofprize-fight philosophy and race-track rhetoric. We learn with interestthat a former United member named "Handsome Harry" has now graduatedfrom literature to =left field=, and has, through sheer genius, risenfrom the lowly level of the ambitious author, to the exalted eminence ofthe =classy slugger=. Too proud to =push the pen=, he now =swats thepill=. Of such doth the dizzy quality of sempiternal Fame consist!Speaking without levity, we cannot but censure Mr. Dowdell'sintroduction of the ringside or ball-field spirit into an Associationpurporting to promote culture and lettered skill. Our members canscarcely be expected to place the Stygian-hued John Arthur Johnson,Esq., on a pedestal beside his well-known namesake Samuel; or calmly tocompare the stinging wit of a Sidney Smith with the stinging fist-cuffsof a "Gunboat" Smith. In a word, what is suited to the street-corner isnot always suited to the library, and the taste of the United is as yetbut imperfectly attuned to the lyrical liltings of the pool-room Muse.It is both hard and unwise to take the "Best Sport Page" seriously. As acopy of "yellow" models it is a work of artistic verisimilitude; indeed,were Mr. Dowdell a somewhat older man, we might justly suspect asatirical intention on his part.
We trust that =The Cleveland Sun= may shine on without cloud or setting,though we must needs hope that the United's atmosphere of academicrefinement will temper somewhat the scorching glare with which thebright orb has risen.
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=The Conservative= for April opens with Andrew Francis Lockhart'smelodious and attractive poem entitled "Benediction". As a whole, thisis possibly the best piece of verse which Mr. Lockhart has yet written;the sentiment is apt, if not entirely novel, whilst the technicalconstruction is well-nigh faultless. Such expressions as "pearl-scarr'd"serve to exhibit the active and original quality of Mr. Lockhart'sgenius. "Another Endless Day", by Rheinhart Kleiner, is a beautiful andharmonious poetical protest against monotony. Much to be regretted isthe misprint in line 3 of the third stanza, where the text should read:
"=A= love to thrill with new delight".
"April", by Winifred Virginia Jordan, is a seasonable and extremelytuneful poem whose imagery is of that dainty, sprightly sort which onlyMrs. Jordan can create. "In Morven's Mead", also by Mrs. Jordan,contains an elusive and haunting suggestion of the unreal, in theauthor's characteristic style. "The Night Wind Bared My Heart" completesa highly meritorious trilogy. In justice to the author, it should bestated that the last of these three poems is, as here presented, merelya rough draft. Through our own reprehensible editorial oversight, theprinter received this unpolished copy instead of the finished poem. Thefollowing emendations should be observed:
Stanza I, line 4, to read: "Awak'd my anguish'd sighs".
Stanza II, line 3, to read: "But Oh, from grief =were= prest".
"The Best Wine", by William de Ryee, is an earnestly introspective poem,well cast in iambic pentameter quatrains. "Ye Ballade of Patrick vonFlynn" is a comic delineation of the cheap pseudo-Irish, England-hatingagitators who have been so offensively noisy on this side of theAtlantic ever since the European war began, and particularly since thelate riots in Dublin. This class, which so sadly misrepresents the loyalIrish people, deserves but little patience from Americans. Its membersstutter childishly about "breaches of neutrality" every time a realAmerican dares speak a word in favour of the Mother Country; yet theyconstantly violate neutrality themselves in their clumsy attempts to usethe United States as a catspaw against England. The actual Germanpropagandists have the excuse of patriotism for their race andVaterland, but these Hibernian hybrids, neither good Irishmen nor goodAmericans, have no excuse whatever when they try to subvert thefunctions of the country which is giving them protection and livelihood.
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=The Conservative= for July pays a deserved tribute to one of the mostlucid and acute of our amateur essayists, by devoting the entire issueto his work. Henry Clapham McGavack, in "The American Proletariat versusEngland", exposes with admirable fearlessness the silly Anglophobicnotions which a mistaken conception of the Revolution, and an ignorantIrish population, have diffused among our lower classes. It is seldomthat an author ventures to speak so frankly on this subject, for theservile tendency of the times impels most writers and publishers to playthe demagogue by essaying to feed the Irish masses with the anti-Englishswill they desire; but Mr. McGavack wields an independent pen, andrecords the truth without fear of the =mobile vulgus= and its shallowviews. In power, directness, urbanity, and impartiality, Mr. McGavackcannot be excelled. He marshals his arguments without passion, bias, orcircumlocution; piling proof upon proof until none but the most stubbornEngland-hater can fail to blush at the equal injustice and stupidity ofthose who malign that mighty empire to whose earth-wide circle ofcivilisation we all belong.
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=The Coyote= for April is a Special English Number, dedicated to oursoldier-member, George William Stokes of Newcastle-on-Tyne. The openingpoem "To England", well exhibits the versatility of Mrs. Winifred V.Jordan, who here appears as a national panegyrist of commendable dignityand unexceptionable taste. The word at the beginning of the fourth lineshould read "=Is=" instead of "=To=". The short yet
stirring metre isparticularly well selected. "Active English Amateurs I Have Met", byErnest A. Dench, is a rather good prose piece, though not without marksof careless composition. "The Vultur", by Henry J. Winterbone of theB. A. P. A., is a remarkably good story whose development and conclusionwould do credit to a professional pen. We hope Mr. Winterbone may jointhe United, thereby giving American readers a more ample opportunity toenjoy his work. Editor William T. Harrington, whose prose is so rapidlyacquiring polish and fluency, contributes two brief but able essays:"History Repeats" and "How Great Britain Keeps Her Empire". In "HistoryRepeats", certain parts of the second sentence might well be amended atrifle in structure, to read thus: "it must be remembered =that= thefirst half was a series of victories for the South, and =that= onlyafter the Battle of Gettysburg did the strength of the North begin toassert itself". This number of =The Coyote= is an exceedingly timely andtasteful tribute to our Mother Country, appearing at an hour when theair of America reeks with the illiterate anti-British trash of the "SinnFein" simpletons and Prussian propagandists.
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=Invictus= for July is the second number of Mr. Paul J. Campbell'spersonal organ, and represents the strictly individual magazine in itsmost tasteful and elaborate form. Unimpeachably artistic in appearance,its contents justify the exterior; the whole constituting a publicationof the first rank, wherein are joined the virtues both of the old and ofthe new schools of amateur journalism. Since Mr. Campbell ispreeminently an essayist, it is to his dissertations on "The Pursuit ofHappiness" and "The Age of Accuracy" which we turn most eagerly; andwhich in no way disappoint our high expectations. The first of theseessays is a dispassionate survey of mankind in its futile but franticscramble after that elusive but unreal sunbeam called "happiness". Theauthor views the grimly amusing procession of human life with thegenuine objective of an impartial spectator, and with commendablefreedom from the hypocritical colouring of those who permit commonplaceemotions and tenuous idealizings to obscure the less roseate but moresubstantial vision of their intellects. "The Age of Accuracy" presentsan inspiring panorama of the evolution of Intellect, and of itsincreasing domination over the more elemental faculties of instinct andemotion. At the same time, much material for reflection is furnished,since it is obvious that the advance is necessarily confined to acomparatively small and select part of humanity. Instinct and emotionare still forces of tremendous magnitude, against which Reason wages anupward struggle of incredible bravery. Only the strong can escape theclutch of the primitive, wherefore there can be no successful socialorder which does not conform in its essentials to the blind impulses ofthe natural man or man-ape. We are in danger of overestimating theascendancy and stability of Reason, for it is in reality the mostfragile and rudimentary element in our mortal fabric. A heavy blow oncertain parts of the skull, or a bullet in certain parts of the brain,can destroy in an instant all the accumulated intellect which aeons ofheredity have bestowed, depressing the victim from the zenith of cultureand refinement to a condition separated only by colour and contour fromthat of the negro or the gorilla; yet not all the edicts of thelawgiver, devices of the educator, measures of the reformer, or skill ofthe surgeon, can extirpate the ingrained instincts and seatedsuperstitions of the average human animal.
The poetry of Mr. Campbell is represented in =Invictus= by threespecimens, whose merit speaks well for the author's progress in the art."The Sunshine Girl" is an amatory panegyric of no small skill andpolish, though not strikingly novel in sentiment or expression. "GermanKultur" is a scathing and virile indictment of the present enemies ofhumanity. The versification is bold, and in places rugged, whilst theimagery is appropriately grim and sardonic. Points which we mightcriticise are the repeated use of "=civilization=" as a word of onlyfour syllables, and the archaic pronunciation of "=drown-ed=" as adissyllable. This latter usage would be objectionable in verse ofstately or conservative cast, but here grates upon the ear as ananachronism. The trenchant wit of the piece is well sustained, andbrought out with particular force in the second and fourth stanzas. "TheMajor Strain" is without doubt the foremost verse of the issue. This isreal poetry. The sustained rhyming, whereby each stanza contains onlyone rhyming sound, is pleasing and unusual. Mr. Campbell's comment on"Amateur Affairs" really deserves to be classed as an essay, for itsthoughtful conclusions and intelligent analyses of human naturecertainly draw it within the pale of true literature. The broadcomprehension and continued love of amateur journalism here exhibited,are potent justifications of the author's practically unanimous electionto the Presidency of the United. =Invictus= is one of the very foremostjournals of the amateur world, and the only possible objection which canbe raised against it, is its infrequency of appearance. It is the voiceof a virile and vibrant personality who unites vigour of thought withurbanity of expression.
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=The Scot= for May marks the advent of this highly entertaining and wellconducted magazine to the United, and extends the northern frontier ofamateur journalism to Bonnie Dundee, in Auld Scotland, the Land ofMountain and Flood. "Hidden Beauty", a poem in blank verse by R. M.Ingersley, opens the issue with a combination of lofty conceptions,vivid imagery, and regular structure. "England's Glory", by Clyde Dane,is a stirring tale of that fearless and self-sacrificing honour whichhas given to the Anglo-Saxon the supremacy of the world. It would be inbad taste to cavil at slight technical imperfections or instances oftriteness when considering so earnest and glowing a delineation of theBritish character; the noblest human type ever moulded by the Creator."Oh Rose, Red Rose!" is a tuneful little lyric by Winifred V. Jordan,whose work is never too brief to be pleasing, or too long to beabsorbing. "Clemency versus Frightfulness", by William T. Harrington, isa thoughtful and lucid exposition of the British governmental ideal oflenient justice; an ideal whose practical success has vividlydemonstrated its thorough soundness. "At Last", by Muriel Wilson, is ablank verse poem of much merit. "Do You Remember?", by the late Lieut.Roy Arthur Thackara, R. N., is a delicate sketch possessing theadditional interest of coming from the pen of one who has now given hislife for King and Country; the author having gone down with H. M. S.=India=. "A Battle with the Sea", a sketch by Midshipman Ernest L.McKeag, exhibits descriptive power of no common order, yet might wellhave a less abrupt conclusion. "To Some One", by Margaret Trafford, is apoem in dactylic measure, dedicated to the women of Britain. Thesentiment is noble, and the encomium well bestowed, though the metrecould be improved in polish. "Gum", by Henry J. Winterbone, is adelightfully humorous sketch. It is evident that those who depreciateBritish humour must have taken pains to avoid its perusal, since it hasa quietly pungent quality seldom found save among Anglo-Saxons.Personally, we believe that the summit of clumsy pseudo-jocoseness isattained by the average "comic" supplement of the Hearst Sunday papers.These, and not the British press, present the pathetic spectacle ofutter inanity and repulsive grotesqueness without the faintest redeemingtouch of genuine comedy, legitimate satire, or refined humour. "Life'sVoyage", by Matthew Hilson, is a poem of great attractiveness, though ofscarcely impeccable construction. Concerning the expression "tempestswild do roar", we must reiterate the advice of Mr. Pope, who condemnedthe expletive "do", "doth", or "did" as a "feeble aid". Such usage has,in fact, been in bad taste ever since the reign of Queen Anne; Drydenbeing the last bard in whom we need not censure the practice. Mr.McColl's editorials are brief but informing. He may well becongratulated on his work as a publisher, and he certainly deserves ashearty a welcome as the United can give.
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=The Scot= for June is a "British Old-Timers' Number", confined whollyto the work of the senior amateur journalists of the Mother Country.Edward F. Herdman, to whom this number is dedicated, opens the issuewith a religious poem entitled "Life", which compares well with the bulkof current religious verse. Mr. Herdman also contributes one of severalprose essays on amateur journalism, in which the various authors viewour f
ield of endeavor from similar angles. "A Song of a Sailor", byR. D. Roosemale-Cocq, exhibits buoyant animation, and considerable easein the handling of a rollicking measure. The internal rhymes are for themost part well introduced, though greater uniformity might have beenused in their distribution. The first two lines have none. In the laststanza there are two lines whose metre seems deficient, but beingconscious of the uncertainties of the secretarial and typographicalarts, we suspend judgment on the author. "A Song of Cheer", by Alfred H.Pearce, is an optimistic ode of real merit. The last line furnishes aparticularly pleasing example of sprightly wit. Mr. Gavin T. McColl issensible and perspicuous in all his editorial utterances. His work inissuing one of the only two regular monthly magazines in amateurdom hasalready brought him to prominence, though his connexion with the pressassociations is still new.
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THE UNITED AMATEUR for June is given over largely to critical andofficial matter, though two pieces of verse serve to vary the monotony."Content", from our own pen, is an answer to Mr. Rheinhart Kleiner'sdelightful poem in the April =Conservative=, entitled "Another EndlessDay". The lines are notable chiefly on account of some fearful andwonderful typographical errors. In the fourth line "=sublime=" shouldread "=sublimer=". In the eighth line there should be no apostrophe inthe word "=stars=". In the second column, eleventh line from the end,there should be no apostrophe in the word "=fathers=", and finally, inthe ninth line from the end, "=hollow'd=" should read "=hallow'd=". "TheSwing in the Great Oak Tree", by Mrs. Agnes Richmond Arnold, is areminiscent poem whose measure is as swinging as its subject, and whoseatmosphere is pleasantly rural. There are flaws in the metre, andirregularities in the rhyming arrangement, but the spirit of the wholerises blithesomely above such slight technical matters. EditorSchilling's column is to be praised for its dignified style, andendorsed for its sound opinions.
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=The Woodbee= for July is an attractive and important contribution tothe history of amateur journalism; since it is entirely devoted to thebiographies of the gifted Columbus amateurs, and to the annals of theirbrilliant local organization. The Woodbees undoubtedly form the mostactive and representative adult club in the United; to which only theAppleton Club, representing the juvenile Muse, may justly be compared.The Woodbees are typical, in a sense, of all that is best in the entireassociation. They are pursuing courses of serious literary study,producing a regularly issued magazine of unfailing merit and good taste,working enthusiastically for the welfare and expansion of the United,and leading or following every worthy or progressive movement in amateurpolitics. They reflect credit upon themselves, their society, theAssociation, and amateur journalism as a whole. The delightfulbiographical article which occupies the major portion of the current=Woodbee= is unsigned; but deserves particular praise, whoever theauthor may be. The various characters are well displayed, and theirpleasing qualities and manifold activities well exhibited.
Mr. Fritter's editorials are as usual timely, lucid, and sensible. Hisadvocacy of the Campbell Amendment is to be applauded; and will, wetrust, be justified by the year's trial which that measure is nowundergoing. The present issue marks the conclusion of Mr. Fritter's termas editor. He has given the amateur public a creditable volume, and isentitled to the gratitude of every member of our Association. A finalword of praise is due the excellent group photograph of the Woodbeeswhich forms the frontispiece of the magazine. Added to the biographicalmatter, it completes a thoroughly commendable introduction to athoroughly commendable body of literary workers.
H. P. LOVECRAFT, Chairman.
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