rameter lines
with a single heptameter, a most 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 half 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
a