# The United Amateur/May 1918/Department of Public Criticism

Department of Public Criticism
Eurus for February serves a double purpose; to introduce to the United in an editorial capacity the gifted poetess, Mrs. W. V. Jordan, and to commemorate the 87th natal anniversary of amateurdom’s best beloved bard, Jonathan E. Hoag. The dedication to Mr. Hoag is both worthy and well merited. There are few whose qualities could evoke so sincere an encomium, and few encomiasts who could render so felicitous an expression of esteem. The entire production sustains the best traditions of Mrs. Jordan’s work, and forms the moat creditable individual paper to appear in the United since the dawn of the new year.
The issue opens with Mr. Hoag’s stately and beautiful poem, “To the Falls of Dionondawa,” which describes in an exquisite way the supposed history of a delightful cascade in Greenwich, New York. The lines, which are cast in the heroic couplet, have all the pleasing pomp and fire of the Augustan age of English verse; and form a refreshing contrast to the harsh or languid measures characteristic of the present day. Mr. Hoag brings down to our time the urbane arts of a better literary period.
“An Appreciation,” by Verna McGeoch, is a prose-poetical tribute to Mr. Hoag, whose literary merit is of such a quality that we must needs lament the infrequency with which the author contributes to the amateur press. Of this piece a reader of broad culture lately said: “I have never read a production of this kind, more finely phrased, more comprehensive, more effective, and withal, so terse, and throughout, in such excellent taste.” Eurus has good reason for self-congratulation on carrying this remarkable bit of composition.
“Chores,” by Winifred Virginia Jordan, displays this versatile writer in a very singular vain; that of sombre, repellent, rustic tragedy. It has all the compelling power which marks Mrs. Jordan’s darker productions, and is conveyed in an arresting, staccato measure which emphasizes the homely horror of the theme. The phraseology, with its large proportion of rural and archaic words and constructions, adds vastly to the general effect and atmosphere. We believe that Mrs. Jordan analyses the New England rustic mind more keenly and accurately than any other amateur writer; interpreting rural moods and sentiments, be they bright or dark, with unvarnished simplicity and absolute verisimilitude, notwithstanding the fact that most of her verse is of a much more polished and classical character. In “Chores” we are brought vividly face to face with the bleakest aspect of rusticity; the dull, commonplace couple, dwelling so far from the rest of mankind that they have become almost primitive in thought and feelings, losing all the complex refinements and humanities of social existence. The poem intensifies that feeling of hidden terror and tragedy which sometimes strikes us on beholding a lonely farmer, enigmatical of face and sparing of words, or on spying, through the twilght, some grey, unpanted, ramshackle cottage, perched upon a wind-swept hill or propped up against the jutting boulders of some deserted slope, miles from the town and remote from the nearest neighbour.
“Young Clare,” by Edith Miniter, is a narrative poem of that power and polish which might be expected of its celebrated author. The only considerable objection which could possibly be brought against it is a technical one, applying to the fourth line of the opening stanza: “To work a cabaret show” Here we must needs wonder at the use of work as a transitive verb when the intransitive sense is so clearly demanded, and at the evident accentuation of cabaret. We believe that the correct pronounciation of cabaret is trisyllabic, with the accent on the final syllable, thus: “cab-a-ray.” We will not be quite so dogmatic about artiste in line 2 of the last stanza, though we think the best usage would demand the accent on the final syllable.
“Gentle Gusts,” the quaintly named editorial section, contains much matter of merit, clothed in a pleasantly smooth style. The classical name of the publication is here ingeniously explained, and its dedication formally made. The tribute to Mr. Hoag is as well rendered as it is merited. The editorial note on amateur criticism is sound and kindly; the author voicing her protests in a manner which disarms them of malice, and putting us in a receptive attitude. Personally, the present critic is in complete agreement with the ​remarks on poetical elision and inversions; but we are confident that those of our board who hold different views, will accept the dicta in the friendly spirit intended.
“Someone—Somewhere,” by Jennie E. T. Dowe, is a delightful lyric by an authoress too well known in amateurdom to need an introduction. Mrs. Dowe writes with the polish of long experence and genuine culture, dsplaying an enviable poetic genius.
Eurus closes with some commendatory lines to Mr. Hoag from the pen of H. P. Lovecraft. They are in heroics, and redolent of the spirit of two centuries ago. We discern no striking violations of good taste or metre, nor do we find any remarkable poetic power or elevation of thought. ****** The Little Budget for February and March is a double number, whose size and quality are alike encouraging. The issue opens with an ornate and felicitous Nature-poem by Rev Eugene B. Kuntz, entitled “Above the Clouds,” in which the author for once breaks away from his favourite Alexandrines and heptameters, presenting us with an ideally beautiful specimen of the heroic quatrain. Despite the strong reasons which impel Dr. Kuntz to adhere to long measures, we believe he should compose more in pentameter. That his chosen metres have peculiar advantages, none will deny; but it seems plain that the standard shorter line has other advantages which amply outweigh them. It was not by chance that the line of five iambuses became the dominant metre of our language. In the present poem we discern a grace and flow far greater than any which could pervade an Alexandrine piece; a condition well shown by parallel perusal of this and one of the same author’s more characteristic efforts. As a creator of graphic, lofty, and majestic Images, Dr. Kuntz has no peer in amateurdom. His sense of colour and of music weaves a rich and gorgeous element into the fabric of his work, and his sensitive literary faculty gives birth to happy combinations of words and phrases which not only please the imagination with their aptness, but delight the ear with their intrinsic euphony.
“The Drama as a Medum of Education,” by Lieut. Ernest L. McKeag, is a short but terse essay on a neglected factor in liberal culture. It is true that our ordinary curricula lay all too little stress on dramatic art; and that as a result, this branch of æsthetic expression is grossly and consistently undervalued. The low estimate of the dramatic profession entertained by Dr. Johnson is a sad illustration of the one-sided state of mind prevailing even amongst scholars, concerning an art which is certainly not inferior to painting and sculpture, and probably much superior to music, in the æsthetic and intellectual scale.
“The Wizard of the North,” an essay on Sir Walter Scott, is the current instalment of Miss Mappin’s Modern Literature Series. It is marred by a seeming hiatus, discernible not so much in the flow of words as in the flow of the narrative, which leads us to believe that a considerable portion has been left out, either through accident, or through an attempt at abridgment.
“My Books,” by Alfred H. Pearce is a sonnet of apt idea and perfect construction.
“On Self-Sacrifice,” by W. Townsend Ericson, is one of the “Essays of a Dreamer” which are regularly appearing in the Budget. The effort is marked by much sincerity and idealism, though in grammar and practicability it is less distinguished. We might mention the erroneous use of whom for who (a not uncommon defect amongst amateur writers), the faulty use of the word usurping where depriving is meant, and the split infinitive “to at least make;” all three of which mistakes occur on page 138. Mr. Ericson should drill himself more thoroughly in the principles of syntax. Other essays of this series are included in the present issue. “On Contentment” gives an illustration which we fear will injure Mr. Ericson’s contention more than it will aid it. It is the reductio ad absurdum of the typical “Pollyanna” school of philosophy.
“Down an’ Out,” by Ernest L. McKeag, is a very clever ballad of the “rough and ready” school; picturesque it atmosphere, but somewhat defective in technique. Lieut. McKeag should pay a trifle more attention to his rhymes; which are not, however, worse than many of the rhymes in “Hudibras” and other comic pieces.
“Why Roses are White,” a children’s story, by Margaret Mahon, is marked by much grace and ingenuity; the central idea being quite original so far as we know. ​Further contributions to the children’s department are made by Miss Birkmyre, whose woodland sketches will be appreciated by older readers as well.
“Selfish Ambition,” a poem, by Nell Hilliard, is as correct and fluent in metre as we might expect from the author, though the expletive does in the final line of the first stanza is not to be commended. The sentiment is not precisely novel, but is well presented.
“The Flying Dutchman,” a Romance of the Sea, by Joseph Parks, is more replete with nautical verisimilitude than with literary force. As compared wth many of Mr. Parks’ other tales, its plot is distinctly weak and lacking in symmetry. We must, however, praise the generally salty atmosphere. The picture of seafaring life is vivid and realistic.
The current Budget concludes with a summary of the year just closed, displaying a record of achievement of which the editress may well be proud. ****** The Silver Clarion for March is the publication of John Milton Samples, of Macon, Ga., a new member of the United. In tone the paper is quite serious and strongly inclined toward the religious; but so able are the majority of the contributions, that it lacks nothing in interest.
“Singing on the Way,” a poem by James Larkin Pearson, opens the issue in attractive fashion. The lines are tuneful and felicitous, the triple rhymes giving an especially pleasing effect; though we must criticise the line “Will certainly provide for us” as being a trifle prosaic. We should recommend “plenteously provide,” or something of that nature, as more poetic. Mr. Pearson is a poet of ability and experience, with a volume of published verse to his credit, whose work never falls below a high standard of merit.
“Just Icicles,” by Sarah Story Duffee, is a sort of fairy tale with a juvenile exterior; which contains, however, more than a slight hint of the vanity of human wishes and fruitlessness of human endeavour. Whilst it exhibits no little cleverness in construction, we must own that it possesses certain looseness, insipidity, and almost rambling quality, which detract from its merit as a piece of literature. Mrs. Duffee would profit from a closer study of classical models, and a slighter attention to the more ordinary folk tales.
“The Blessings of Thorns,” by Sallie M. Adams, is a religious poem of considerable excellence, containing a pious and worthy sentiment well expressed. The chief defects are technical. In the first stanza, line 3 lacks a syllable, whilst line 4 has one too many. Also, the day–way rhyme is repeated too closely. To have but one rhyming sound through two rhymes is a fault hard to excuse. All the defects above enumerated might be removed with ease, as the following revised version of the opening lines illustrates:
When we thank our Heav’nly Father For the boons each day bestow’d; For the flowers that are scatter’d O’er the roughness of the road.
In the third stanza we find the day–way rhyme again repeated, also a superfluity of syllables in the sixth line. The latter might be cut down by the omission of the second the.
“Springtime in Dixieland,” by John Milton Samples, is a tuneful pastoral which justifies the author’s right to his first two names. But one or two defects mar the general delightful effect. The phrase “zephyr breeze,” in the opening stanza, strikes us as a trifle pleonastic; since a zephyr is itself a breeze; not a quality of a breeze. The syntax of the latter part of this stanza is somewhat obscure, but might be cleared up if the seventh line were thus amended: “And save when cloud-ships cross their track.” The sixth and seventh lines of the last stanza each have a syllable too many, and in line 6 the word raise is used incorrectly; rise being the word needed. This, of course, would necessitate a change of rhyme.
“One Face Is Passing,” by Mamie Knight Samples, is a timely and excellent sketch concerning soldiers.
“Co-ee,” a poem by Harry E. Reiseberg, contains much genuine pathos, and is generally smooth and commendable in technique.
“The Likeness of the Deity,” by Arthur H. Goodenough, is one of the characteristically excellent products of its author, who holds the proud rank of “Literatus” in the United. The amount and quality of Mr. ​Goodenough’s work is very unusual; few other amateurs producing so much verse of the first order. As a religious poet, he stands alone; resembling the celebrated Dr. Watts. He invests every theme he touches with an atmosphere truly and richly poetic.
“Astral Nights,” by John Milton Samples, is a genuinely poetic piece of prose arranged in lines resembling those of verse. We believe that the loftiness and excellence of this composition would justify its metamorphosis into real verse.
Also by Editor Samples is the prose sketch entitled “The Present War a Blessing in Disguise.” From the title, one would expect Mr. Samples’ point of view to be akin to that of the esteemed Gen. von Bernhardi; but such is not the case, since Mr Samples means to say that he considers the conflict a just Divine Punishment for a sinful world—a punishment which will bring about a sinless and exemplary future. We wish it were so.
“Lord, Keep My Spirit Sweet,” by Mr. Samples, is a religious lyric of substantial charm and grace.
The Editorials in this issue consist mainly of critical notes on previous numbers, and in general show a gratifying soundness of opinion. ****** Spindrift for January opens with “Mater Dolorosa,” a poem, by Vere M. Murphy, whose sentiment and technique are alike deserving of praise.
“The Spirit of January,” a sketch by Jean Birkmyre, runs into the February issue, and is quite acceptable from every point of view, though not distinguished by that highly imaginative colouring which we find in many of Miss Birkmyre’s similar pieces.
“The Mystery of Murdor Grange” this month falls into the hands of Editor McKeag, who furnishes one of the best chapters we have so far perused; possibly the very best. It is exasperating to be cut off abruptly in the midst of the exciting narrative, with the admonition to wait for page 47! ****** Spindrift for February has as its leading feature an essay on “Heredity or Environment,” by the Editor. In this brief article many truths are stated, though we fear Lieut. McKeag slightly underestimates the force of heredity. We might remind him of the Darwin family, beginning with the poet and physician, Erasmus Darwin. The grandson of this celebrated man was the immortal Charles Darwin, whilst the sons of Charles have all occupied places of eminence in the world of intellect.
“To the Enlisted men of the United States,” by Edna Hyde, is an ode of admirable spirit and faultless construction.
“A Fragment,” by S. L. (whose identity is now known to us!) shows much poetical ability, though the metre would move much more smoothly if judiciously touched up here and there. The description of the crescent moon sinking in the morning, is astronomically erroneous.
“The Estates of Authors,” by Albert E. Bramwell, is a brief but informative article. As the late Dr. Johnson said of the Ordinary of Newgate’s account, ‘it contains strong facts.’ ****** Spindrift for March very appropriately commences with a poem on that blustering month, from the pen of Annie Pearce. Apparently the piece is a juvenile effort, since despite a commendably poetic atmosphere there are some striking errors of construction. In the third line of the first stanza there is a very awkward use of the impersonal pronoun one. This pronoun has no place in good poetry, and should always be avoided by means of some equivalent arrangement. In the second stanza it appears that the authoress, through the exigencies of versification, has fallen into the paradox of calling the “fair green shoots” “roots!” Perhaps we are mistakon, but our confusion is evidence of the lack of perspicuity in this passage. A rather more obvious error is the evidently transitive use of the verb abound in the last line of this stanza. Be it known, that abound is strictly an intransitive verb!
“The Soul of Newcastle,” an historical article by John M’Quillen, begins in this number; and describes the Roman period. We regret the misprint whereby the name Aelii becomes Aelu. The presence of a Hunnish umlaut over the u adds insult to injury! Mr. M’Quillen writes in an attractive style, and we shall look forward to the remainder of the present article.
​“Heart Thirst,” by Vere M. Murphy, is a very meritorious lyric, containing an ingenious conceit worthy of a more classical age. ****** As the literary contributions to the United Amateur for January are mainly in the form of verse, I shall devote most of my attention to them. Poetry, like the poor, we have always with us; but the critic is moved to remark, as he casts back in his mind over the last twenty years of amateur publishing activity, that on the whole the tone of amateur poetry is distinctly higher than it used to be. Banal verse we still have in larger amounts than we should; but the amateur journals of a decade or two ago had reams of it. On the other hand, they contained not a few poems with more than a passing spark of the divine fire. The promising fact is that in the poetry of today’s journals we get much more frequent glimpses of this true inspiration. In passing, the critic cannot forbear calling attention to Mr. Kleiner’s “Ruth” in the February Brooklynite, which attains the highest levels of lyric expression, although only the simplest of figure and diction are employed. It is not often that one runs across a poem so simple and yet so pregnant with sincere emotion.
The first poem in the United Amateur arouses mixed feelings. “Give Aid,” by Julia R. Johnson, presents a thought that cannot be too often or too strongly stressed in this gloomy old world. Mrs. Johnson, furthermore, has carved out her own poetic medium, alternating two tetrameter lines with a single heptameter, a moat unusual combination. It is always a promising sign to find a new poet experimenting with unhackneyed verse forms, although the experiments may not always be happy ones. But a word about the thought of this poem. It is one of those “recipe” poems, so-called because it can be produced in almost unlimited quantities by any writer clever enough to follow the formula. Some day the critic is going to take enough time off to write a book of poetic recipes, and already he has his subject so well blocked out that he is sure his book will contain the fundamental ingredients of a great majority of the amateur poems now appearing. The poem under consideration belongs to the “glad” recipe, an off-shoot of the Pollyanna school of fiction, and true to type it contains its quota of “glad” ingredients ,such as “cheer,” “merry song,” “troubles,” and “sorrows,” the last two, of course, for the sake of contrast.
“Astrophobos,” by Ward Phillips, is another recipe poem; although his recipe is so much more intricate that it is not to be recommended for the Freshman. The critic would denominate a poem composed according to this recipe, a ulalumish poem, as it has so many earmarks of Poe. True to type, it is ulaluminated with gorgeous reds and crimsons, vistas of stupendous distances, coined phrases, unusual words, and general touches of either mysticism or purposeless obscurity. Such a poem is a feast for epicures who delight in intellectual caviar, but is not helf so satisfying to the average poetic taste as Mr. Kleiner’s “Ruth.”
Theodore Gottlieb’s “Contentment” is a clever and readable working out in verse of Mr. Ruskin’s theme in his “King’s Treasures;” namely, the satisfying companionship of great books. Mr. Gottlieb shows commendable control of the felicitous phrase, while the literary allusions with which his lines bristle mark a catholicity of taste entirely beyond the ordinary.
Metrical versions of the Psalms are not at all new; they are used, in fact, in Scotch Presbyterian churches in place of regular hymns. The poetic paraphrase of the first Psalm by Wilson Tylor is well done, and only in a few such phrases as “winds that blow” and “perish and shall not be blest,” does he get dangerously near redundancy for the sake of rhyme and metre.
“A Thought,” by Dorothy Downs, is a pretty little thought indeed, and prettily expressed, although the term “holiness divine” is strained when applied to a rose, and “we will be surprised” is frankly ungrammatical as a simple future in the first person. The sine qua non of all poetry is absolutely correct grammar and freedom from redundancy.
The bit of verse heading the War Items written by F. G. Morris, is quite adequate except for the lack of a rhyme in the last line, where the form of the stanza leads the reader to expect a rhyme for “part.”
Matthew Hilson’s rhymed greeting to the ​United from across the water, is on the whole, graceful and well done, and the United acknowledges its receipt with thanks.
One other piece of work in this number deserves especial mention. Alfred Galpin’s “Mystery” introduces to the association a thinker more gifted for his years than probably any other recruit within recent years. This judgment is not based alone on the short article under consideration, but even this little piece of thought, if carefully analysed, is enough to stamp him as one who thinks with extreme facility in the deepest of abstractions, and who for expression of that thought commands a vocabulary of remarkable range. Mr. Galpin is going far in this world, and we hope that he will sojourn long enough with us so that we can feel that whatever glory he may attain will cast some of its rays upon the Association.
The editorial remarks in this issue of the United Amateur are worthy of close perusal on account of their graceful literary quality. Seldom has the critic seen the subject of the New Year so felicitously treated as in this brief study by Miss McGeoch. The author’s mastery of appropriate words, phrases, and images, and her intuitive perception of the most delicate elements of literary harmony, combine to make the reader wish she were more frequently before the Association as a writer, as well as in an editorial capacity.