The formal bow that THE LITTLE REVIEW made to the public in its first issue violated tradition beautifully by doing what formal bows never do--really mean something. It is glorious to be young and enthusiastic, and still more so to be courageous; and whatever goes into THE LITTLE REVIEW in that spirit is admirable, regardless of any reader's personal judgment. It's good, too, to have used THE LITTLE REVIEW: It makes me think of a child--beautiful in its present stage and with promise of infinite fulfillment. Marie Patridge, Clearfield, Pa.: I've been tremendously interested in the second issue. It seems to me your critic is wrong in speaking of juvenility or the restrictive tone of the magazine. It's exactly that which gives THE LITTLE REVIEW an excuse for being, that it is not like all other magazines with their cut-and-dried precision and their "Thus saith the Lord" attitude toward things. As time goes on I think it will be wise to enlarge the scope--more of drama, more of music, more of world politics and science. You will thus get away from the aesthetic tendency which your critic mentions. I enjoyed the Wells discussion so much. And yet Miss Trevor doesn't advance any real arguments. It's very easy to call people muddle-headed and vaguely sentimental, but an appeal to the upbuilding of character isn't slushy. I'm inclined to agree with "M. M.," though I'd like to hear an advanced--not a hysterical--argument on the subject. I'm willing to be convinced of the other side, but assuredly it would take something stronger and sterner and more logical than Miss Trevor. [The suggestion about enlarging our scope is one we hoped no one would make until we had done it, that being the plan closest to our hearts. We can only explain our shortcomings in this regard by referring to a homely but reasonable saying about not being able to do everything at once.--THE EDITOR.] Mabel Frush, Chicago: You have invited frank criticism, and that is my reason for not writing at first: I could not accept it all. In the first place, regarding Paderewski. Do you never find him a bit over-powering; do you never feel that a trifle more restraint might give greater strength? In Grieg, for instance, does he carry you up into the high places, give you that impression of unlimited space, rugged strength, and wild beauty? Is he not too subjective? I quite agree with you as regards Chopin and Schumann. There he is satisfying. His interpretations carry a quality that other artists sometimes treat too lightly; forgetting "a man's reach must exceed his grasp," and so sacrificing the greater to the lesser in striving for perfection. Impotency is the price of ultra-civilization.