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ND "The Lariat!" Even Amy

A Lowell finds representation in the

January number, which shows that Col. Hofer is nothing if not broad-minded. But really, it would be a difficult reader who could not find in "The Lariat" something of interest, for there is a wealth of verse to suit all tastes.

But-glancing through these pages brings this to the Poetry Editor's mind. -what words these poets do use! Here's one the Poetry Editor has been intending to look up, he finds it almost as frequently as 'blur'-dictionary please! Let's see: Maul-Maunder-no, that isn't it. Mausoleum-Mawkish-No. Here it is, Mauve-meaning purple. Oh, well, no doubt that's it; the "purple hills" have gone into the discard with a lot more of the good old poetic standbys. They will be mauve hills from now henceforward.


O those who love the old days


of Spanish California-and who is there who does not?-the Poetry Editor speaks of one of the most important anthologies of recent years, the "Spanish Songs of Old California." These are the folk songs of that romantic age, unwritten and fast disappearing until. Charles F. Lummis set himself to the task-is any labor of love a task?-of collecting and preserving them in their original beauty. In his preface Mr. Lummis says:

"For 38 years I have been collecting the old, old songs of the Southwest; beginning long before the phonograph but utilizing that in later years. I have thus recorded over. 450 unpublished Spanish songs. It was barely in time; the very people who taught them to me have mostly forgotten them, or died, and few of their children know them. My versions are authentic, both in music and in text; and Mr. Farwell's pianoforte accompaniments are of his unsurpassed sympathy and skill."

In the collection are 14 songs, both in the original and with the English translation by Mr. Lummis. It is a group of Spanish songs in which everyone may find delight.

(Spanish Songs of Old California, $1.50 post paid. Address Chas. F. Lummis, 200 East Avenue 43, Los Angeles.)

"Four" reaches the Poetry Editor's desk too late for extended comment. It is a number which will have wider appeal than the first; not so much because of the presence of rhymed verse as because of a slightly lighter touch, a brighter atmosphere. Yossef Gaer's "Legendary" has fine artistry, and it seems regrettable that it has in this been turned to the burlesquing of that which -to so many-is held sacred. Thompson Rich has a group of sonnets, not

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entirely regular as to form, which will be more pleasing to the majority than is the vers libre of his usual inclination. Nor are the sonnets all, for Rich includes no less than three other poems written in all the beauty of the accepted. older forms. Rich stands among the most promising of the western poets of the day.

Not infrequently the Poetry Editor has given it as his opinion that the final word in verse had been said of the Cali

fornia poppy. Not an aspiring verse

writer of the West but has at some time or other inscribed a couplet or so to this golden emblem. But here comes Delmar H. Williams in the San Francisco "Bulletin" with a poppy poem which has a really happy slant:

CALIFORNIA'S FLOWER From where Sierra's summits, crowned with snow,

Look out across Nevada's wide plateau,
To where the Western Ocean's power is spent
To shape the margin of a continent;
From where the heavens pour libations on
The densely wooded hills of Oregon
To where a tropic sun's unhampered glow
Rests on the northern rim of Mexico,
You'll find the poppy sometime in the year-
Sown by the gnomes when gold was planted

And left to bud, and bloom, and seed, and wait,

Just to become the emblem of our state.

Oregon Literature and Art

By VIOLA PRICE FRANKLIN Audred Bunch, a senior in Willammette University, who was awarded the P. E. O. Scholarship, has recently been notified that her poems won "honorable mention" in the Witter Bynner Prize, given under the auspices of the Poetry Society of America. This is for the best college verse of 1923 and there were over 700 contestants representing 63 American colleges and 33 States. Miss Bunch ranked about fourth in the group of 12 and won over the contestants from Harvard and Yale. Her picture sonnets were chosen for publication in a poetry magazine. Witter Bynner congratulates her in a personal letter.

Albert Richard Wetjen has come from California to Salem, Oregon, to make his home. Mrs. Gertrude Robison Ross recently entertained the Writers' League in a reception for him and his wife. His stories are in great demand, not only in America but also in England. His plots are developed from his rich travel experiences as a sailor on English vessels. Stories have recently appeared in Everybody's and in Collier's.

Charles Alexander's book "The Fang in the Forest," reached the list of five best sellers in Oregon, according to J. K. Gill's record a week ago. It has been well received and his short stories continue to be popular. One wonders at what the Bookman said in its Novem(Continued on page 92


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worried the women and the administration by a fusilade of newspaper articles, decrying the project, and picturing the land as a dismal swamp of no value. Five years after the purchase the property was appraised at $90,000, and was considered cheap at that price! Mrs. Beckman's fighting blood had a fine opportunity to show itself, and her business judgment was fully sustained by the results achieved. She was one of the founders, and the first president of the powerful Tuesday Club, which has a beautiful club house, and is so potent a factor in the social and civic life of Sacramento. While President of the Tuesday Club, Mrs. Beckman was instrumental in organizing circulating

libraries for the use of women's clubs in the northern part of the State. In three months three libraries of fifty books each were on the road, and so great was the demand for selected reading that the State Library took over the work. By this means isolated communities have the benefit of our great library collections. Being the third largest library in the United States, there are rare volumes and extensive collections on many subjects which are now available to students everywhere.

The men of Mrs. Beckman's ancestry rendered distinguished service in the Revolution, in the Civil War, and in all the Indian and border warfare of their respective states, so it would naturally follow that Mrs. Beckman would be active in the great world war still unsettled. It was quite like her way of doing things for her to adopt Company "C" 322nd Field Signal Corps, of two hundred and eighty men. And it is also like her to continue her benefactions, now that field service is no longer required of them. Her "boys" were stationed at Camp Lewis while in training, and her first gift to them was one hundred and fifty books from her own library. To these Godsons she


"Today you are holding the skein, dear boys,

And the measure of thread must run, For you're spinning out swiftly the threads of life

And your work has scarcely begun. But bravely you'll spin the threads, dear


For you're all I could ask-brave, tender and true.

You are staunch and courageous, you're gold through and through You'll stand every test, be it joy or pain,

For you'll never lose hope that we'll all

meet again

When victorious you come to the end of the skein."

After the Armistice, with the loss of only one man, the boys came home, and have since organized the Zane-Irwin Post No. 93, to which Mrs. Beckman presented the Post colors, and she still keeps a lively interest in the welfare of each member.

Mrs. Beckman's creed of life can best be summed up by quoting one of the closing paragraphs in her "Memory's Potlatches":

"Strive to be worthy of the place the gods have assigned you. Strive to help others and lighten the shadows that enwrap them. Strive to make memories of deeds done stepping stones to a higher and better existence. By so doing you will not only be better and happier, but will help the world and make it all the more livable and lovable because you have lived."

(Continued from page 91)

ber Guide to Fiction about his trying to imitate Jack London. The fact is that Mr. Alexander said that London took a dog and degraded him to lower animal life, hence he wanted in Black Buck to show how near to the human a dog could ascend. No more original and independent writer exists than Mr. Alexander. His story "In the Sticks," set in the Santiam Forest, is proving very popular in England. Mr. Alexander's pages in the Albany Sunday Democrat hold up a high standard for poetry, and his discerning editorials are exerting a wide influence in Oregon.

Hazel Hall's popularity continues, as editors scramble for her poetry. The Century was caught napping, in "Among our Contributors," for December, when it said she was "one of Maine's foremost poets." Portland, the City of Roses, is proud to claim Hazel Hall, whose classic poetry has truly "won her a place in nearly all of the publications which constitute the American market for distinguished poetry."

Grace E. Hall, author of Homespun, which has had an encouraging sale, also lives in Portland. Her poems are being used in illustrated cover designs; "Take Time" in Progress Magazine, and "Sunset by the Creek" in Outdoor Life. She is on the staff of The Oregonian, writing three poems a week for the editorial



November "Poetry" contains a beautiful poem by David Greenhood of the O. A. S. Faculty. He received his inspiration under Witter Bynner at Berkeley.

Viola Price Franklin recently presented a copy of Ina Coolbrith's "Songs from the Golden Gate" to the Poets' Corner in J. K. Gill's Book Store. Miss Coolbrith kindly inscribed a quatrain of (Continued on page 95)


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The Editor's Brief Case

'HAT makes a Western Magazine? Is it the place of publication? Is it the cover, with its wildly whooping cowboy? Is it the fiction, with its wilder Indians? Is it a combination of the three-or is there a needful ingredient which is aside and apart from any of these?

The cowboy as we see him flambuoyantly displayed on the covers of so-called Western Magazines—this riding, shooting, colorful creation of the artist-was never typical of the hardworking plainsman. But even the latter is no longer typical of the West. Outside the movies. and rodeos the cowboy is never seen, save in a few isolated localities. He passed with the passing of the great ranges, lingering but little longer than the buffalo and Indian. But there is a magazine which knew the real cowboy, which knew the buffalo and the Indian.

Back in the days when the Overland Trail of the pioneer had not yet been brushed over and forgotten, a man named Bret Harte brought forth a publication which was in its inception and policy, in its contents and even in its place of publication essentially of the West. That was the "Overland Monthly" of 1868, and for nearly sixty years. "Overland" has continued to be a truly Western Magazine.

It is today a Western Magazine because it presents, month by month, in its stories, its articles, its verse and its pictures, the real spirit of the real West.


terests are inextricably bound with those of the Great West; not California alone, but all of the West from the Rocky Mountains to the Orient.

Bret Harte, in that first editorial of his back there in July of 1868, said this: "Why is this magazine called "The Overland Monthly?" I might prove that there was safety, at least, in the negative goodness of our homely Anglo-Saxon title. But is there nothing more? Do you see this vast interior basin of the Continent on which the boundaries of states and territories are less distinct than the names of wandering Indian tribes; do you see this broad zone reaching from Virginia City to St. Louis, as yet only dotted by telegraph stations. Here creeps the railroad, each day drawing the West and East closer together. Shall not the route be represented as well as the termini? What could be more appropriate for the title of a literary magazine than to call it after this broad highway?"

Today the debris of years is being swept from the old Overland Trail. There is not one trail, nor two, but half a dozen, which stretch out across the continent binding ever closer the eastern states to those which lie on the western side of that "vast interior basin." The policy of "Overland Monthly" is today, as it was those years ago, to truly represent not only the western termini but those regions and municipalities crossed by the overland routes.

And to that end each month will

it preserves the atmosphere of the old bring forth features in article and story West, but its chief aim is to so present

contemporary conditions and contemporary life that the world may know the West of today.

of interest both to those resident along these great trans-continental highways. and to those whose dream is sometime to travel them. "Overland Monthly"

Further, it is western because its in- is essentially the Western Magazine.

(Continued from page 69)

that suggested that he thought eight o'clock a long way off.

That afternoon Imogene went to bed with a headache. When she awoke it was five o'clock. Three hours to wait for Mother! She went into the livingroom and looked at the new furniture. She hated it-and the new awnings, and the phonograph. But here was the easy chair, that Mother had sat in and rocked

Junior and herself to sleep!.... Yes, and here were the other pieces- Oh, she understood! Father had quietly brought them back, because he knew that Mother wouldn't like to be surprised. Here they were, jostling the new furniture, crowding the living room—

She sat in the easy chair, and cried softly against its comfy cushions.

And that night, at eight o'clock, Mother came back. It was not the same Mother that went away-oh, no!

"I-I wanted to surprise you," she said, as they looked at her in silence.

Her hair was done differently. Her dress, new-becoming, too—was like one worn by the mother of Imogene's best friend. Her hat-Imogene had long insisted that Mother should wear some

thing more fashionable than the closefitting turbans that were suited to her.

This hat was not a turban.

"I thought I'd surprise Imogene," she cried, from a cordon of loving arms, tightly drawn about her. "She loves new things and—”

"But not a new Mother!" Imogene objected, trying to keep her voice steady.

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