es. Mr. Fritter's legal training aids him
in presenting a clear, polished, and logical arraignment of
anti-prohibition hypocrisy. "Just a Little Love Tale," by Elizabeth M.
Ballou, is a smoothly constructed bit of very light fiction. Mrs.
Haughton's editorial, "A Review of Reviews," is concise and sensible;
giving a merited rebuke to those who seek to create unrest and
dissatisfaction in amateur journalism.

* * * * *

=The Woodbee= for April is an ample and attractive number, opening with
Dora H. Moitoret's excellent poem in the heroic couplet, "The April
Maiden." The metre of this piece follows the fashion of the nineteenth
rather than of the eighteenth century, having very few "end-stopt" lines
or sense-limiting couplets. The final rhyme of =caprice= and =these= is
somewhat imperfect, the effect being that of an attempted rhyme of =s=
and =z=. "Her Fateful Day," a short story by Maude Dolby, is pleasing
and ingenious despite certain improbabilities. "Ashes of Roses," by
Frieda M. Sanger, belongs to that abnormal and lamentable type of
pseudo-literature known as =vers libre=, and is the first serious
specimen of its kind ever inflicted upon the United. We are sincerely
sorry that one so gifted as Miss Sanger should descend to this hybrid,
makeshift medium, when she could so well express her thoughts either in
legitimate prose or legitimate verse. "Free Verse" has neither the flow
of real verse nor the dignity of real prose. It tends to develop
obnoxious eccentricities of expression, and is closely associated with
bizarre and radical vagaries of thought. It is in nine cases out of ten
a mere refuge of the obtuse, hurried, indolent, ignorant, or negligent
bard who cannot or will not take the time and pains to compose genuine
poetry or even passable verse. It has absolutely no justification for
existence, and should be shunned by every real aspirant to literary
excellence, no matter how many glittering inducements it seems to hold
out. True, a person of very little knowledge or ability can make himself
appear extremely cultured, aesthetic, and aristocratic by juggling a few
empty words in the current fashion; scribbling several lines of unequal
length, each beginning with a capital letter. It is an admirably easy
way to acquire a literary reputation without much effort. As the late
W. S. Gilbert once wrote of a kindred fad:

"The meaning doesn't matter
If it's only idle chatt