HOW MANY? How many stars have the skies folded away, How many autumns blowing like great waves How many shadows nesting under clouds But a shadow looks out of some woman's eyes. Blue skies silently closing in on pale stars And shadows dumb-dumb through out all the years This is the silence speaking, voicing Beauty that lives forever and forever dies. Editorials Editorial pages as a regular department of THE MIDLAND institute a new policy which may require explanation. In the past we have been content to publish as much as possible of the good poetry and fiction which have come to us, letting the form and content of the magazine express its purpose. But the present time seems to lay upon those who follow an ideal the obligation to speak their faith openly. It seems, too, that THE MIDLAND's six years of silence may give its utterance a measure of authority. We believe that American democracy must be justified by artistic achievement comparable to that of other lands and of earlier times. We believe that the region between the mountains will come to have primary importance in the artistic life of America, as it already has primary economic importance. We believe that in order to attain its rightful place in American literature, the middle west must publish as well as produce. We believe that the development of American art, especially of the art of letters, is hindered by commercialism, which misnames financial success as literary success; and by academicism, which misnames historical research as literary achievement. We believe that there are very many writers and readers in America who will welcome leadership out of the bondage of the market-place and out of the desert of the schools. For service in such leadership THE MIDLAND lives. It hopes to help other leaders, and to be helped by them. It does what it can, without expectation of wealth or the desire of fame. As this editorial is written, the presidential campaign is dragging out a dispirited course; before the editorial reaches the readers of THE MIDLAND, the result of the campaign will be well-nigh forgotten. The editor is not especially interested in the election; and if he were, he should not employ the pages of THE MIDLAND for the expression of his opinions. But he has happened to wonder whether anyone has made a comparison of the artistic tastes and capacities of the opposing candidates. Will tomorrow's papers tell us that Senator Harding has 'expressed his profound appreciation of the distinguished service rendered to our commonwealth' by Daniel Chester French, or that Governor Cox 'views with alarm the encroaching influence in America' of Paul Gauguin? It seems unlikely. There have been times when rulers and the ruled alike were interested in the substance and the manner of the arts. Elections have turned upon aesthetic questions. Those were times almost as violent and as cruel as our own. But in those days the lives of men, however brief and troubled, were made bright by the presence of beauty. Of the millions of children living in America today, most seem destined never to see a beauti ful building, or a beautiful picture, or a beautiful statue, or a beautiful piece of furniture; never to witness a noble drama; never to hear a symphony; never to read a great book understandingly. It would seem that the President of the United States might be expected to do something about this, as he is expected to do something about the tariff, and the affairs of Europe. Meanwhile, the wilderness in which the editor lives is oblivious to the presidential campaign. But it knows that the autumn has come, and it is fraught with the beauty of autumn. The editor wishes that he could send to each reader of THE MIDLAND one of these maple leaves. It might help toward forgetfulness of politics, and toward remembrance of beauty. THE MIDLAND is rarely honored in being privileged to make known to the public for the first time a proposed innovation likely almost to revolutionize the teaching of literature in American colleges and universities. One of our leading institutions of higher learning is said to be considering the introduction of a new course, in the English department, which is described as follows: "Bad Literature 417 (418). MWF 9:30. Open to Juniors and Seniors. A reading course designed to immunize the student to all the more important forms of bad writing now current in America. Some account of the origins is followed by thorough exposure to the Tarzan books. This leads gradually to the Terhune type of zoöphilism; the he-man; Pollyanna; and R. W. Chambers. The trend toward Americanization is observed by careful study of the campaign speeches of Harding and Cox. Various periodicals will be used, including The Congressional Record and The Ladies Home Journal." The possibilities inherent in the elaboration of this idea will readily occur to our readers. THE MIDLAND hopes that the plan will meet with general adoption and will accomplish much good. The editor cherishes an ambition, perhaps inconsequential, some day to print with his own hands certain of the books he likes best. The list is not long, but it is varied. First would come something by William Morris - perhaps "Sir Peter Harpdon's End," that rare quaint drama from "The Defence of Guenevere", or possibly "A Dream of John Ball;" then Whitman - probably the "Song of Myself" or half-a-score of the chants; then the Book of Ecclesiastes; then Bertrand Russell's "A Free Man's Worship"; and then the Odes of Keats. Beyond that the choice is not made; there are such possibilities as the stories of Friar Juniper, or "Alice in Wonderland" (if the illustrations could be handled), or some of Elia's essays, or the "Songs of Innocence." The editor finds much pleasure in the thought of putting into type the words and sentences of these books, and printing the pages: with time enough to taste the phrase and sound the thought, or look out at the grouse in the poplar tops. Meanwhile, until |