There is hope among the magazines in the form of _The Metropolitan_. That is making a commercial success and is also attempting to publish genuine work--not necessarily "highbrow," but at least genuine. An expert on an important subject recently wished to write a magazine article. The first editor he approached recast the material to suit his own ideas. A second and a third told him that his message was good, but over the heads of the public; they ordered "popular" and ephemeral trivialities. _The Metropolitan_ is the only magazine that wanted him to write, in his own way, what he really had to say. Another writer submitted the outline of an article to a _Metropolitan_ editor. It was on a subject ordinarily considered somewhat "dangerous." The editor said: "That is new, and interesting. It ought to make a good article. You must be careful of only one thing. Be absolutely frank. Don't try to gloss over anything that is a plain matter of fact." Such directness is astounding to one accustomed to the ways of editors. An editor has recently confessed to me that now for the first time he begins to believe that the popular magazines may have a really good reason for existence, aside from furnishing amusement in hours of train and family boredom. He thinks that the tremendous events in Europe are likely to bring forth literature of worth and quickened emotion which nevertheless cannot wait for book publication, and that so we shall find use for the more ephemeral medium. It certainly is true that the keen public interest in the war is likely to decline even before the war is over. We are bound to experience a reaction in favor of reading matter at the opposite pole of thought. An incredible rumor that Hearst has bought _The Atlantic Monthly_ is as startling as many of the war headlines which occur when no authentic news is available. In spite of the absurdity of the idea, it has possibilities of momentary amusement. What a retribution to overtake the spinsterly Bostonese journal which tries with such a brown and wren-like conscience to be judiciously radical! Book Discussion Two Finds _Poems_, by George Cronyn. [The Glebe. Albert and Charles Boni, New York.] I am very sorry indeed that this book arrived when most of our space was pre-empted. I need room for the sort of appreciation that I feel for these poems. That extraordinary, delightful, and Quixotic institution, _The Glebe_, which insists on publishing stuff on its merits, apart from considerations of popularity, has had divine luck in finding Cronyn,--whoever he is. For Cronyn is a poet. Not just a versifier, but a poet. His verse has a facility which does not detract from its beauty. I have encountered sheer beauty more often in his book than in any volume of modern poetry that I have read for some time. Here is a sample: Clouds