velopment leave
considerable to be desired. In the first place, the rhyming plan is
unfortunate; the opening and concluding couplets of each stanza being
unrhymed. In the second place, the metre is irregular; departing very
widely in places from the iambic heptameter which appears to be the
dominant measure. Miss Trafford should cultivate an ear for rhythm, at
the same time counting very carefully the syllables in each line she
composes. A third point requiring mention is the occasional awkwardness
of expression, a juvenile fault which will doubtless amend itself in
time. Just now we will call attention to only one defect--the
exceedingly forced abbreviation "=dresses'd=" for =dresses would=. "To
My Physician," by M. Estella Shufelt, is a smooth, graceful, and serious
poem whose only possible fault is the infrequency of rhyme. This is not
a technical defect, since the plan of construction is well maintained
throughout; but we believe a poem of this type requires more than one
rhyme to each stanza of eight lines. "The Old Inn," a stirring short
story by Gertrude L. Merkle, is a very promising piece of work, albeit
somewhat conventional and melodramatic. The alliterative romance of
Harry Henders and Hazel Hansen has a genuinely mid-Victorian flavour.
"Dead Men Tell No Tales," a short story by Ida Cochran Haughton, is a
ghastly and gruesome anecdote of the untenanted clay; related by a
village dressmaker. The author reveals much comprehension of rural
psychology in her handling of the theme; an incident which might easily
shake the reason of a sensitive and imaginative person, merely
"unnerves" the two quaint and prim maiden ladies. Poe would have made of
this tale a thing to gasp and tremble at; Mrs. Haughton, with the same
material, constructs genuine though grim comedy!

* * * * *

THE UNITED AMATEUR for January contains Editor Lockhart's captivatingly
graceful retrospect of the older amateur journalism, concluding with a
just and eloquent appeal for the revival of our ancient enthusiasm. "Who
Pays," by Helene H. Cole, is a brief and tragic story of considerable
sociological significance. We deplore the use of the false verbal form
=alright=; for while the expression =all right= may well occur in
conversation of the character uttering it, the two words should be
written out in full. "To a Babe," by Olive G. Owen, embodies in
impeccable verse a highly clever and pleasing array of poetical