# The United Amateur/September 1916/Department Of Public Criticism

Department Of Public Criticism
The Amateur Special for July is a voluminous magazine of credentials and other work of new members, edited by Mrs. E. L. Whitehead, retiring Eastern Manuscript Manager, with the assistance of the Recruiting Committee. Of all papers lately issued in the United, this is without doubt among the most valuable and most significant; since it is the pioneer of the new regime, whereby the talent of all our membership is to be brought out by better publishing facilities. Mrs. Whitehead, with notable generosity, has reserved for herself but one page, on which we find a clever and correct bit of verse, and a number of graceful acknowledgments and useful suggestions. The contents in general are well calculated to display the thorough literary excellence and supremacy of the United in its present condition; for in this collection of stories, poems, and articles, taken practically at random from the manuscript bureaus, there is scarce a line unworthy of commendation.
“Tatting”, by Julian J. Crump, is a fluent and graceful colloquial sketch. “Mother and Child”, by J. E. Hoag, is a sombre and thoughtful poem having a certain atmosphere of mysticism. The metre, which is well handled, consists of regular iambic pentameter quatrains with a couplet at the conclusion. An annoying misprint mars the first stanza, where “sigh” is erroneously rendered as “sight”. “Homesick for the Spring”, a poem by Bessie Estelle Harvey, displays real merit in thought and construction like. “Mother Earth”, by Rev. E. P. Parham, is a well adorned little essay in justification of the traditional saying that “the earth is mother of us all”. George M. Whiteside, a new member of the United, makes his first appearance before us as a poet in “The Little Freckled Face Kid”. Mr. Whiteside’s general style is net unlike that of the late James Whitcomb Riley, and its prevailing air of homely yet pleasing simplicity is well maintainted. “To Chloris”, by Chester Pierce Munroe, is a smooth and melodious amatory poem of the Kleiner school. The imagery is refined, and the polish of the whole amply justifies the inevitable triteness of the theme. The word “adorns”, in next the last line, should read “adorn”. “A Dream”, by Helen Harriet Salls, is a hauntingly mystical succession of poetic ​images cast in appropriate metre. The natural phenomena of the morning are vividly depicted in a fashion possible only to the true poet. The printer has done injustice to this exquisite phantasy in three places. In the first stanza “wonderous” should read “wondrous”, while in the seventh stanza “arient” should be “orient”. “Thou’st”, in the eleventh stanza, should be “Thou’rt”. “Prayers”, a religious poem by Rev. Robert L. Selle, D. D., displays the classic touch of the eighteenth century in its regular octosyllabic couplets, having some resemblance to the work of the celebrated Dr. Watts. “Snow of the Northland”, by M. Estella Shufelt, is a religious poem of different sort, whose tuneful dactylic quatrains contain much noble and appropriate metaphor. In the final line the word “re-cleaned” should read “re-cleansed”. “In Passing By” by Sophie Lea Fox, is a meritorious poem of the thoughtful, introspective type, which has been previously honoured with professional publication. “A Time to Sing”, by M. B. Andrews, introduces to the United another genuine poet of worth. The lines are happy in inspiration and finished in form, having only one possible defect, the use of “heralding” as a dissyllable. “The Stately Mountains”, by Rev. EWugene B. Kunts, D. D., is a notable contribution to amateur poetic literature. Dr. Kuntz chooses as his favourite metre the stately Alexandrine; and using it in a far more flexible and ingenious manner than that of Drayton, he manages to achieve a dignified and exalted atmosphere virtually impossible in any other measure. The even caesural break so common in Alexandrines, and so often urged by critics as an objection against them, is here avoided with great ingenuity and good taste. Dr. Kuntz’s sentiments and phrases are as swelling and sublime as one might expect from his metre. His conception of Nature is a broad and noble one, and his appreciation of her beauties is that of the innate poet. “An April Memory” acquaints us with W. Frank Booker, a gifted lyrist whose lines possess all the warmth, witchery and grace of his native Southland. James J. Hennessey, in his essay on “The Army in Times of Peace”, exhibits very forcibly the various indispensable services so quietly and efficiently performed by the United States Army in every-day life. Mr. Hennessey makes plain the great value of having among us a body of keen, versatile, and well-trained men ready for duty of any sort, and ever alert for their country’s welfare in peace or in war. The American Soldier well deserves Mr. Hennessey’s tribute, and the present essay adds one more to the already incontrovertible array of arguments in favour of an adequate military system. As printed, the article is marred by a superfluous letter “a” on the very last word, which should read “citizen”. “Sowing the Good”, a brief bit of moralizing by Horace Fowler Goodwin, contains a serious misprint, for the final word of line 1, stanza 2, should be “say”. “Bobby’s Literary Lesson”, by Gladys L. Bagg, is a delightful specimen of domestic satire in prose. The handling of the conversation exhibits Miss Bagg as a writer of considerable skill and 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”. In the third stanza the typographical artist has killed a pretty woodland “copse” with the letter “r”, so that it reads “corpse”! In the fourth stanza “head” should read “heard”. Perhaps the “r” which murdered the “copse” escaped from this sadly mutilated word! In stanza five, “Chacts” should be “chants”. But why continue the painful chronicle? Mr. Kleiner said just what we would like to say about misprints over a year ago, when he wrote “The Rhyme of the Hapless Poet”! “Submission”, by Eugene B. Kuntz, is a delightful bit of light prose, forming the autobiography of a much-rejected manuscript. This piece well exhibits Dr. Kuntz’s remarkable versatility. The humour is keen, and nowhere overstrained. “Number 1287”, a short story by Gracia Isola Yarbrough, exhibits many of the flaws of immature work, yet contains graphic touches that promise well for the author. The lack of unity in plot and development detracts somewhat from the general effect, while the unusual lapses of time and artificial working up of the later situations are also antagonistic to technical polish. Triteness is present, but that is to be expected in all amateur fiction. “A Drama of Business”, by Edgar Ralph Cheyney, is a terse bit of prose which might well serve as an editorial in a liberal literary ​magazine. “The Schools of Yesterday and Today”, a sketch by Selma Guilford, presents in pleasing 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 deemed suitable in a serious poem. “When the Sea Calls”, a poem by Winifred Virginia Jordan, is possibly the most striking feature of the magazine. Mrs. Jordan’s style in dealing with the wilder aspects of Nature has a grim potency all Its own, and we can endorse without qualification the judgment of Mr. Moe when he calla this poem “positively magnificent in dynamic effect”. To Mrs. Jordan is granted a natural poetic genius which few other amateurs can hope to parallel. Not many of our literary artists can so aptly fit words to weird or unusual passages, or so happily command all the advantages of alliteration and onomatopoeia. We believe that Mrs. Jordan’s amateur eminence will eventually ripen into professional recognition. “Preachers in Politics”, by Rev. James Thomas Self, is a long, thoughtful, and extremely well phrased essay against the descent of the ministry to the uncertain affairs of practical legislation. Dr. Self has a just idea of the dignity of the cloth; an idea which some clergymen of less conservative habits would do well to acquire. 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 to the present outlaw among nations. We feel, however, that it is only from London that Germany will eventually be convinced of the futility of her pseudo-Napoleonic enterprise. And when peace does come to Germany, it will be British-made peace! The structure of Mrs. Barton’s poem is regular, and many of the images are very well selected. The worst misprints are those in the sixth stanza, where “in” is omitted before the word “pomp”, and in the seventh stanza where “come” is printed as “came”. In the biographical sketch entitled “Two Lives”, Helen Hamilton draws a powerful moral from the contrasted but contemporaneous careers of Florence Nightingale and the ex-Empress Eugenie. “Class-Room Spirits I Have Known”, an essay by Bessie Estelle Harvey, displays a sound comprehension of pedagogical principles. Two more poems by Mrs. Jordan conclude the issue. “The Time of Peach Tree Bloom” is the fourth of the “Songs from Walpi”, three of which appenaed in The United Amateur. “In A Garden” is a gem of delightful delicacy and ethereal elegance. It in indeed not without just cause that the author has, from the very first, held the distinction of being the most frequent poetical contributor in all amateur journalism. ********** The Cleveland Sun for June is the first number of an amateur newspaper edited 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 of the modern professional daily, and displays some interesting examples of “newspaper English”. Mr. Moitoret is an old-time United man, now reentering the sphere of activity, and he is to be commended warmly both for his generous attitude toward the new members, and for his really magnanimous 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 serve what he deems the best interests of the Association. Were Mr. Moitoret more in touch with the rising ideals of the newer United, he would realize the essential childishness of our “official business” as contrasted with the substantial solidity of our developing literature. Possibly the plan of Mr. Campbell, as experimentally tried during the present year, will alter Mr. Moitoret’s present opinion. Taken altogether, we are not sure whether the Sun will prove beneficial or harmful to the United. We most assuredly need some sort of stimulus to activity, yet the comparatively crude atmosphere of newspaperdom is anything but inspiring in a literary society. We cannot descend from the ideals of Homer to those of Hearst without a distinct loss of quality, for which no possible gain in mere enthusiasm can compensate. Headlines such as “Columbus Bunch Boosting Paul” or “Pep Still Shows Pep”, are positive affronts to the dignity of amateur journalism. There is room for an alert and informing news sheet in the United, yet we feel certain that the Sun must become a far more sedate and ​scholarly publication before it can adequately supply the need. At present, its garish rays dazzle and blind more than they illuminate; in a perusal of its pages we experience more of sunstroke than of sunshine. Of “The Best Sport Page in Amateurdom” we find it difficult to speak or write. Not since perusing the delectable lines of “Tom Crib’s Memorial to Congress”, by jovial old “Anacreon Moore”, have we beheld such an invasion of prize-fight philosophy and race-track rhetoric. We learn with interest that a former United member named “Handsome Harry” has now graduated from literature to left field, and has, through sheer genius, risen from the lowly level of the ambitious author, to the exalted eminence of the classy slugger. Too proud to push the pen, he now swats the pill. Of such doth the dizzy quality of sempiternal Fame consist! Speaking without levity, we cannot but censure Mr. Dowdell’s introduction of the ringside or ball-field spirit into an Association purporting to promote culture and lettered skill. Our members can scarcely be expected to place the Stygian-hued John Arthur Johnson, Esq., on a pedestal beside his well-known namesake Samuel; or calmly to compare the stinging wit of a Sidney Smith with the stinging fist-cuffs of a “Gunbout" Smith, in a word, what is suited to the street-corner is not always suited to the library, and the taste of the United is as yet but 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 a copy of “yellow” models it is a work of artistic verisimilitude; indeed, were Mr. Dowdell a somewhat older man, we might justly suspect a satirical 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 academic refinement will temper somewhat the scorching glare with which the bright orb has riven. ********** The Conservative for April opens with Andrew Francis Lockhart’s melodious and attractive poem entitled “Benediction”. As a whole, this is possibly the beat piece of verse which Mr. Lockhart has yet written; the sentiment is apt, if not entirely novel, whilst the technical construction is well-nigh faultless. Such expressions as “pearl-scarr’d” serve to exhibit the active and original quality of Mr. Lockhart’s genius. “Another Endless Day”, by Rheinhart Kleiner, is a beautiful and harmonious poetical protest against monotony. Much to be regretted is the 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 extremely tuneful poem whose imagery is of that dainty, sprightly sort which only Mrs. Jordan can create. “In Morven’s Mead”, also by Mrs. Jordan, contains an elusive and haunting suggestion of the unreal, in the author’s characteristic style. “The Night Wind Bared My Heart” completes a highly meritorious trilogy. In justice to the author, it should be stated that the last of these three poems is, as here presented, merely a rough draft. Through our own reprehensible editorial oversight, the printer received this unpolished copy instead of the finished poem. The following 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 von Flynn” is a comic delineation of the cheap pseudo-Irish, England-hating agitators who have been so offensively noisy on this side of the Atlantic ever since the European war began, and particularly since the late riots in Dublin. This class, which so sadly misrepresents the loyal Irish people, deserves but little patience from Americans. Its members stutter childishly about “breaches of neutrality” every time a real American dares speak a word in favour of the Mother Country; yet they constantly violate neutrality themselves in their clumsy attempts to use the United Statess as a catspaw against England. The actual German propagandists have the excuse of patriotism for their race and Vaterland, but these Hibernian hybrids, neither good Irishmen nor good Americans, have no excuse whatever when they try to subvert the functions of the country which is giving them protection and livelihood. ********** The Conservative for July pays a deserved tribute to one of the most lucid and acute of ​our amateur essayists, by devoting the entire issue to his work. Henry Clapham McGavack, in “The American Proletariat versus England”, exposes with admirable fearlessness the silly Anglophobic notions which a mistaken conception of the Revolution, and an ignorant Irish population, have diffused among our lower classes. It is seldom that an author ventures to speak so frankly on this subject, for the servile tendency of the times impels most writers and publishers to play the demagogue by essaying to feed the Irich masses with the Anti-English swill they desire; but Mr. McGavack wields an independent pen, and records the truth without fear of the mobile vulgus and its shallow views. In power, directness, urbanity, and impartiality, Mr. McGavack cannot be excelled. He marshals his arguments without passion, bias, or circumlocution; piling proof upon proof until none but the most stubborn England-hater can fall to blush at the equal injustice and stupidity of those who malign that mighty empire to whose earth-wide circle of civilisation we all belong. ********** The Coyote for April is a Special English Number, dedicated to our soldier-member, George William Stokes of Newcastle-on-Tyne. The opening poem “To England”, well exhibits the versatility of Mrs. Winifred V. Jordan, who here appears as a national panegyrist of commendable dignity and unexceptionable taste. The word at the beginning of the fourth line should read “is” instead of “To”. The short yet stirring metre is particularly well selected. “Active English Amateurs I Have Met”, by Ernest A. Dench, is a rather good prose piece, though not without marks of careless composition. “The Vultur”, by Henry J. Winterbone of the B. A. P. A., is a remarkably good story whose development and conclusion would do credit to a professional pen. We hope Mr. Winterbone may join the United, thereby giving American readers a more ample opportunity to enjoy his work. Editor William T. Harrington, whose prone is so rapidly acquiring polish and fluency, contributes two brief but able essays: “History Repeats”, and “How Great Britain Keeps Her Empire”. In “History Repeats”, certain parts of the second sentence might well be amended a trifle in structure, to read thus: “it must be remembered that the first half was a series of victories for the South, and that only after the Battle of Gettysburg did the strength of the North begin to assert itself”. This number of The Coyote is an exceedingly timely and tasteful tribute to our Mother Country, appearing at an hour when the air of America reeks with the illiterate anti-British trash of the “Sinn Fein” simpletons and Prussian propagandists. ********** Invictus for July is the second number of Mr. Paul J. Campbell’s personal organ, and represents the strictly individual magazine in its most tasteful and elaborate form. Unimpeachably artistic in appearance, its contents justify the exterior; the whole constituting a publication of the first rank, wherein are joined the virtues both of the old and of the new schools of amateur journalism. Since Mr. Campbell is preeminently an essayist, it is to his dissertations on “The Pursuit of Happiness” and “The Age of Accuracy” which we turn most eagerly; and which in no way disappoint our high expectations. The first of these essays is a dispassionate survey of mankind in its futile but frantic scramble after that elusive but unreal sunbeam called “happiness”. The author views the grimly amusing procession of human life with the genuine objective of an impartial spectator, and with commendable freedom from the hypocritical colouring of those who permit commonplace emotions and tenuous idealizings to obscure the less roseate but more substantial vision of their intellects. “The Age of Accuracy” presents an inspiring panorama of the evoluton of intellect, and of its increasing domination over the more elemental faculties of instinct and emotion. At the same time, much material for reflection is furnished, since it is obvious that the advance is necessarily confined to a comparatively small and select part of humanity. Instinct and emotion are still forces of tremendous magnitude, against which Reason wages an upward struggle of incredible bravery. Only the strong can escape the clutch of the primitive, wherefore there can be no successful social order which does not conform in its essentials to the blind impulses of the natural man or man-ape. We are in danger of overestimating the ascendancy and stability of Reason, for it is in reality the most fragile and rudimentary element in our mortal fabric. A heavy blow on certain parts of the skull, or a bullet in certain parts of the brain, ​can destroy in an instant all the accumulated intellect which aeons of heredity have bestowed, depressing the victim from the zenith of culture and refinement to a condition separated only by colour and contour from that of the negro or the gorilla; yet not all the edicts of the lawgiver, devices of the educator, measures of the reformer, or skill of the surgeon, can extirpate the ingrained instincts and seated superstitions of the average human animal.
The poetry of Mr. Campbell is represented in Invictus by three specimens, whose merit speaks well for the author’s progress in the art. “The Sunshine Girl” is an amatory panegyric of no small skill and polish, though not strikingly novel in sentiment or expression. “German Kultur” is a scathing and virile indictment of the present enemies of humanity. The versification is bold, and in places rugged, whilst the imagery is appropriately grim and sardonic. Points which we might criticise are the repeated use of “civilization” as a word of only four syllables, and the archaic pronunciation of “drown-ed” as a dissyllable. This latter usage would be objectionable in verse of a stately or conservative cast, but here grates upon the ear as an anachronism. The trenchant wit of the piece in well sustained, and brought out with particular force in the second and fourth stanzas. “The Major Strain” is without doubt the foremost verse of the issue. This is real poetry. The sustained rhyming, whereby each stanza contains only one rhyming sound, is pleasing and unusual. Mr. Campbell’s comment on “Amateur Affairs” really deserves to be classed as an essay, for its thoughtful conclusions and intelligent analyses of human nature certainly draw it within the pale of true literature. The broad comprehension and continued love of amateur journalism here exhibited, are potent justifications of the author’s practically unanimous election to the Presidency of the United. Invictus is one of the very foremost journals of the amateur world, and the only possible objection which can be raised against it, is its infrequency of appearance. It is the voice of a virile and vibrant personality who unites vigour of thought with urbanity of expression. ********** The Scot for May marks the advent of this highly entertaining and well conducted magazine to the United, and extends the northern frontier of amateur journalism to Bonnie Dundee, in Auld Scotland, the Land of Mountain 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 which has given to the Anglo-Saxon the supremacy of the world. It would be in bad taste to cavil at slight technical imperfections or instances of triteness when considering so earnest and glowing a delineation of the British 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 be absorbing. “Clemency versus Frightfulness”, by William T. Harrington, is a thoughtful and lucid exposition of the British governmental ideal of lenient justice; an ideal whose practical success has vividly demonstrated its thorough soundness. “At Last”, by Muriel Wilson, is a blank verse poem of much merit. “Do You Remember”? by the late Lieut. Roy Arthur Thackara, R. N., is a delicate sketch possessing the additional interest of coming from the pen of one who has now given his life 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 well have a less abrupt conclusion. “To Some One”, by Margaret Trafford, is a poem in dactylic measure, dedicated to the women of Britain. The sentiment is noble, and the encomium well bestowed, though the metre could be improved in polish. “Gum”, by Henry J. Winterbone, is a delightfully humorous sketch. It in evident that those who depreciate British humour must have taken pains to avoid its perusal, since it has a quietly pungent quality seldom found save among Anglo-Saxons. Personally, we believe that the summit of clumsy pseudo-jocoseness is attained by the average “comic” supplement of the Hearst Sunday papers. These, and not the British press, present the pathetic spectacle of utter inanity and repulsive grotesqueness without the faintest redeeming touch of genuine comedy, legitimate satire, or refined humour. “Lifes Voyage”, by Mathew Tillson, is a poem of great attractiveness, though of scarcely impeccable construction, ​Concerning the expression “tempests wild do roar”, we must reiterate the advice of Mr. Pope, who condemned the 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; Dryden being the last bard in whom we need not censure the practice. Mr. McColl’s editorials are brief but informing. He may well be congratulated on his work as a publisher, and he certainly deserves as hearty a welcome as the United can give. ********** The Scot for June is a “British Old-Timers’ Number”, confined wholly to the work of the senior amateur journalists of the Mother Country. Edward F. Herdman, to whom this number is dedicated, opens the issue with a religious poem entitled “Life”, which compares well with the bulk of current religious verse. Mr. Herdman also contributes one of several prose essays on amateur journalism, in which the various authors view our field of endeavor from similar angles. “A Song of a Sailor”, by R. D. Roosemale-Cocq, exhibits buoyant animation, and considerable ease in the handling of a rollicking measure. The internal rhymes are for the most part well introduced, though greater uniformity might have been used in their distribution. The first two lines have none. In the last stanza there are two lines whose metre seems deficient, but being conscious of the uncertainties of the secretarial and typographical arts, 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 a particularly pleasing example of sprightly wit. Mr. Gavin T. McColl is sensible and perspicuous in all his editorial utterances. His work in issuing one of the only two regular monthly magazines in amateurdom has already brought him to prominence, though his connexion with the press associations is still new. ********** The United Amateur for June is given over largely to critical and official matter, though two pieces of verse serve to vary the monotony. “Content”, from our own pen, is an answer to Mr. Rheinhart Kleiner’s delightful poem in the April Conservative, entitled “Another Endless Day”. The lines are notable chiefly on account of some fearful and wonderful typographical errors. In the fourth line “sublime” should read “sublimer”. In the eighth line there should be no apostrophe in the word “stars”. In the second column, eleventh line from the end, there should be no apostrophe in the word “fathers”, and finally, in the ninth line from the end, “hollow’d” should read “hallow’d”. “The Swing in the Great Oak Tree”, by Mrs. Agnes Richmond-Arnold, is a reminiscent poem whose measure is as swinging as its subject, and whose atmosphere is pleasantly rural. There are flaws in the metre, and irregularities in the rhyming arrangement, but the spirit of the whole rises blithesomely above such slight technical matters. Editor Schilling’s column is to be praised for its dignified style, and endorsed for its sound opinions. ********** The Woodbee for July is an attractive and important contribution to the history of amateur journalism; since it is entirely devoted to the biographies of the gifted Columbus amateura, and to the annals of their brilliant local organization. The Woodbees undoubtedly form the most active and representative adult club in the United; to which only the Appleton club, representing the juvenile Muse, may justly be compared. The Woodbees are typical, in a sense, of all that is best in the entire association. 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 amateur politics. They reflect credit upon themselves, their society, the Association, and amateur journalism as a whole. The delightful biographical article which occupies the major portion of the current Woodbee is unsigned; but deserves particular praise, whoever the author may be. The various characters are well displayed, and their pleasing qualities and manifold activities well exhibited.
Mr. Fritter’s editorials are as usual timely, lucid, and sensible. His advocacy of the Campbell Amendment is to be applauded; and will, we trust, be justified by the year’s trial which that measure is now undergoing. The present issue marks the conclusion of Mr. Fritter’s term as editor. He has given the amateur public a creditable volume, and is entitled to the gratitude of every member of our Association. A final word of praise is due the excellent group photograph of the Woodbees which forms the frontispiece of the magazine. Added to the biographical matter, it completes a thoroughly commendable introduction to a thoroughly commendable body of literary workers.
H. P. Lovecraft, Chairman.