ve
bacillus of deformed spelling.

THE WOODBEE for April contains "The Cycle Eternal", a lucid
philosophical article by Samuel James Schilling, wherein is described
the dispersal and new combinations of the organic cells that compose the
body of mankind. By the perpetual reincorporation or reincarnation of
these cells in all other forms of matter, man is shown to be immortal,
and in the closest degree akin to every natural object surrounding him.
His outward form is merely one transient phase of a ceaseless
rearrangement of atoms; he is simply one aspect of infinite and eternal
Nature. Save for a few slight traces of rhetorical awkwardness, Mr.
Schilling's expository style is remarkable for its force and clearness;
the arrangement of the essay into Prologue, Body, and Epilogue is
especially favorable to comprehensiveness.

While Mr. Schilling deals with mankind in the abstract, Miss Mabel
McKee, in "A Gift from the City", presents a concrete example of the
workings of the human heart. Her subject and treatment are not
startlingly original, but such themes lose very little when repeated in
pure English and attractive style. The story is distinctly pleasing, and
artistically developed throughout.

A notable feature of the April Woodbee is Miss Hepner's fervent and
unstudied tribute to Mr. Leo Fritter, candidate for the United's
Presidency. Though the editorial is bestrewn with slang and distinctly
familiar in construction, it produces upon the reader an impression of
absolute sincerity and intensity of feeling which more elaborate
rhetoric might fail so forcibly to convey. Great as is the tribute,
however, we feel that Mr. Fritter is worthy of it, and must congratulate
him on having such support. Our own efforts for his election, appearing
in The Conservative, seem slight in comparison. The only verse in this
number is "My Shrine", by Harriet E. Daily. Though containing an attempt
to rhyme the words "time" and "shrine", this ethereal little poem of
spring is of great attractiveness.

ZEPPELIN for March, a publication emanating from the pen of Mr. O. S.
Hackett of Canton, Pennsylvania, is scarcely as formidable and menacing
as its name, being distinctly friendly and fraternal in its general
tone. Mr. Hackett's prose has obviously not received its final
polishing, but it is so filled with aspiration, ambition, and enthusiasm
for the cause of amateur journalism, that it evidently requires only
such development as is obt