The less money _The Little Review_ has the better it _looks_ anyway! Your resolve is interesting—but it looks like the end.... I don’t see where you can find the thing you need. But miracles do happen—I wish I had a million or a pen. Freudian _A Contributor, Chicago_: _The Little Review_ sickens me. I don’t understand why in the devil you talk imagism and color and beauty and fill your magazine full of that sputtering trash, that colorless-degenerate edgarleemasters junk. Why not leave blank pages? And your article.... Good Lord!... It was like warm candle grease just after the little candle flame has been sniffed out. I see and feel _The Little Review_ as a case of feminine callowism gone mad. The idea of writing anything about Masters fills me with disgust. Masters doesn’t even inspire me with rage. I regard his work as a pretentious mediocrity. There isn’t a poem in his books that I couldn’t have written myself in twenty minutes on a typewriter. Why write about Masters? He’s only one of the many dub artists overrunning the country. He isn’t to blame, even if he is cocky about his success. In fact, he is to be commended for putting it over. The fault, in my mind, lies with the great tribe of morons who yap over his doggerel—pro or con. I have read three or four things in his first book, and as many in his second book, and I see no occasion for rubbing it in on him any more than on Luke McGluke, the poet laureate of _The Hickville Clarion_. Put him out of your head, why don’t you? Criticism doesn’t concern itself with the feverishly inflated mob banalities of the moment. Selah! * * * * * You say _The Little Review_ sickens you? With the above temperature and tongue? I should diagnose the case as autointoxication.—_jh._ Query _Mitchell Dawson, Chicago_: I have read the August number, and have read only the poetry—which makes me sad. Does the new cover represent the Western afterglow? Consoling Us _Rex Lampman, Portland_: Don’t you think you’re asking a little too much of yourself and your contributors, that _The Little Review_ be absolute in each number? No. I don’t mean that. It’s fine to aim at Art, always, but it isn’t failure to miss it most of the time. As for me, _The Little Review_ has been an inspiration and a delight. A paper that will publish anything so wonderful as John Gould Fletcher’s _Green Symphony_ doesn’t need, so far as I’m concerned, to “do it again” for quite a while, and I’m quite content that you should fill in with such stuff as Ben Hecht’s _The Poet Sings to the World_ until you get something as good, again, as the _Symphony_.