o little grace, though beset with many
of the usual crudities of youthful work. In the first place, the
quatrains should have their rhymes regularly recurring; either in both
first and third, and second and fourth lines; or only in second and
fourth. A rhyme occurring only in first and third lines gives an
unmusical cast, since it causes the stanza to end unrhymed. Secondly,
the words =fence= and =scent= do not form a legitimate rhyme. The easy
correctness of the metre is an encouraging sign, and indicates a poetic
talent which Miss Allen would do well to cultivate. Mr. Porter's article
on amateur journalism is interesting and quite just, though we hope that
the United has not quite so "little to offer" the devotee of "so-called
high-class literature" as the author believes. If we are to retain our
cultivated members, or our younger members after they acquire
cultivation, we must necessarily cater to the better grade of taste;
though of course without neglecting the succeeding generation of
novices. The editorial column of this issue is bright and fluent,
concluding one of the best amateur journals of the season.

* * * * *

THE UNITED AMATEUR for September contains something only too seldom
found in the amateur press; a really meritorious short story. "The
Shadow on the Trail," by Eleanor J. Barnhart, possesses every element of
good fiction; a substantial and really interesting plot, a logical
development from beginning to conclusion, an adequate amount of
suspense, a climax which does not disappoint, and a praiseworthy degree
of local colour. Besides all of which it is fluent in language and
correct in syntax. The rest of the literary department in this issue is
devoted to verse. "To a Friend," by Alice M. Hamlet, is particularly
pleasing through the hint of old-school technique which its well ordered
phrases convey. The one weak point is the employment of =thy=, a
singular expression, in connexion with several objects; namely, "paper,
pen, and ready hand." =Your= should have been used. The metre is
excellent throughout, and the whole piece displays a gratifying skill on
its author's part. "The Path Along the Sea," by Rev. Eugene B. Kuntz, is
a flawless and beautiful bit of sentimental poetry, cast in fluent and
felicitous heptameter. "Dad," by Horace Fowler Goodwin, is decidedly the
best of this writer's pieces yet to appear in the amateur press. The
defects are mostly technical, inclu