WHERE ARE HARVARD'S POETS?

In these amazing days, when we no longer respond to the sight of a friend's name on a theatre program with that emotional thrill compounded of surprise and righteous satisfaction at successful prophecy,--so commonplace a thing it now is to behold some vanished Tom, Dick or Harry's fame glowing above the play-house door,--it may be pertinent to ask, where are the Harvard Poets? In the past we sought them in the pleasant pages of the Monthly, and found them there, Moody, Mackaye, Carpenter, and Hunt; today they are gone, and the bubbling Castalian spring of college verse has been transformed into a sluggish fountain pen. The Harvard Monthly, famous for over twenty-five years for the quality and finish of its verse, should first attempt to waken the spirit of true poetical inspiration, and add new lustre to its honorable roll. May the editors never forget the fact, that a pretty good poem is like a pretty good egg.

The present number of the Monthly, if we except the various metrical contributions, one of which is trite, another obscure, and still another juvenile, is an excellent number. Mr. J. D. Adams's account of the Irish dramatic movement is a capable and finished essay of which any literary magazine might be proud, Mr. Britten's "The Smartness of Mr. Warden" is somewhat talky, but readable and clever, and Mr. Skinner's anecdote "The Substitute" is interesting and vivid. The editorials are able and to the point.

The Monthly has an opportunity such as has been given to few college journals. Its history is the early history of many a famous name, and there have been articles in its pages worthy of any journal in the world. To see the Monthly become again the unquestioned leader in the field of college verse, and arbiter of "the best literary work written by undergraduates in Harvard College" is an easily attainable desire, May the editors succeed!