21 West Broadway
Columbia, Missouri

June 7, 1941

Mr. Robert Penn Warren
Managing Editor of The Southern Review
Baton Rouge, Louisiana

Dear Mr. Warren:

I am inclosing three new poems which I should
like for you to consider along with the group I sent you several
weeks ago. One of the first group," The Bright Plain," has
recently been accepted for publication by Poetry: A Magazine of Verse.
I hope you will continue to consider the others.

My poetry is still coming along well. I have new
poems coming out soon in _The Virginia Quarterly Review_, _The Sewanee Review_, and _Poetry: A Magazine of Verse_. I shall be teaching a course
in versification at the summer session of the University of Missouri
before going to the Bread Loaf Conference in August.

I hope that you like the poems.

January 7, 1942

Mr. Robert Penn Warren
Editor of The Southern Review
Baton Rouge, Louisiana

Dear Mr. Warren:

I have been intending to answer your letter of
last September for a long time, but the fall semester has been an
unusually busy one for me. It encouraged me greatly to learn that
you like my poem, "Night-Quest," and that you would be interested
in seeing it again. I am inclosing it along with others which I
thought might interest you. John Crowe Ransom has liked "I
Hear The Affirmation Of The Evening" particularly well, and I thought
you might like to see it too.

4233 S. Roman Street
New Orleans, La.
14 November, 1940

Dear Mr. Brooks:

I sent you this story in its early form and had an encouraging note
from you at the time. Since then I decided perhaps it was too slight.
Nothing much had happened. Three editors liked it but after weeks of
consideration it came back. Thus "We Can't Seem to Tell Anymore" be-
came "Papa's Drug Store". I sent it to the New Anvil in June, I am
enclosing their note. Perhaps I shouldn't do this, but I trust it
will not prejudice you too much. (I guess it isn't ethical to try to in-
fluence editors? But what can we do?)

In any event thank you for your interest in my work- that always helps.
May I ask a fairly early decision- time gets away so. And the note
back - I'm papering my room with nice rejections and rare acceptances.

Box 1161,
Oak Bluffs, Mass.,

July 16, 1941.

Editor,
Southern Review,
Baton Rouge, La.

Dear Sir:

I enclose for your consideration a short story, EPISODE
IN THE LIFE OF A PHILOLOGIST, which I hope you will find suitable
for publication in your magazine. While the theme may be rather
unusual, being a humorous and satirical representation of the trials
of scholarship, it may prove of some interest to your readers. The
usual stamped envelope is likewise enclosed.

ret 7/28/41

21, Grove Terrace,
Teddington, Middlesex,
England.

6.V.41.

Robert Penn Warren, Esq.,
"The Southern Review",
Louisiana, U.S.A.

Dear Mr. Warren,

You probably will not remember at this
date, but some years ago now, you were once so kind as to
write me an encouraging note about a sequence of poems which
I had submitted to "The Southern Review", and to say that
you would be interested to see any more of my work that I
might send along. The way I write has altered considerably
since then, and naturally my work at present is a good deal
more mature. For some time past I have had the intention
of getting together a new selection to submit to you, and
at last, enclosed herewith, I am sending a dozen more or less

Waycross Farm, Lenox, Mass.

Jan 7 1940

Editor *The Southern Review*
University of Louisiana
Baton Rouge, La.

Dear Sir:

I should like to submit my short story *The Sampler* for publication
in your magazine.

April 7, 1941

Mr. Morris Greenhut
Department of English
University of Michigan
Ann Arbor, Mich.

Dear Mr. Greenhut:

I regret that I am having to return your long
and very interesting essay on the study of
literature. The length is very definitely
against it and the length is even a greater
handicap now that we face two or three crowded
issues in the future and as we get further away
from the original symposium. But the regret in
returning it is very real. I think that you
argue the case very well indeed and there are
items which seem to me fresh and highly important
contributions to the discussion. Perhaps you will
let us see some more of your writing in the
future.

16 Aconda Courts,
1534 W. Cumberland,
Knoxville, Tennessee,
March 6, 1941.

Mr. Cleanth Brooks, Jr., Editor,
The Southern Review,
Louisiana State University,
University, Louisiana.

Dear Mr. Brooks,

I regret very much that I was unable to return the article I sent
you last spring. I found that it needed a great deal of reworking and
many things came up to prevent my finishing it sooner.

Unfortunately, I was unable to go to Bread Loaf last summer as I
had planned and, consequently, Donald Davidson did not get to help me
on it, as I had hoped. Mr. Davidson later wrote me making certain gen-
eral suggestions which I have tried to follow. He also showed the mss.
to Allen Tate who wrote me concerning it but the letter was lost in the
mail somehow. I am sure that in either event the article would have
been considerably improved.

You may possibly remember suggesting that certain portions relating
to the Civil War be either expanded or deleted. I have followed the
latter as I believe additional material warrants a separate but possibly
related article.

I am sending a copy to Mr. Davidson for his comments. I had hoped
to let him see it before returning it to you but do not know when I shall
be able to do so nor how soon he may be able to look at it.

I hope you will be able to use the article. It has been on my mind
for more than a year and a half and I am anxious to get it off. May I
thank you again for your attention and for the kind letter you wrote me
regarding it last summer.

Saely Harrison
AGENT AND EDITOR

October 11, 1941.

Mr. Robert Penn Warren,
Southern Review,
Louisiana State University Press,
Baton Rouge, La.

Dear Mr. Warren:

Thanks for your letter about Margaret Shedd of
October 2, and for the invitation to show you further things by
her. I am glad you like the way she writes.

There will be a lot of stuff soon. Harper's Bazaar
are taking only one story-thread of several that make up her
first novel, and that will leave a lot of perfectly fresh ground for
another magazine. But even their part isn't in final form yet, since
she is doing a radical kind of editing for her November 1st dead-line
with the publishers.

One of the results of the book-editing done so far, however,
has been to cut out of this volume one of the many threads. I am enclosing
for your consideration a chapter called GIANT. He makes a powerful story,
but Harper's suggested he was probably big enough for a whole new book.

I have several unit manuscripts besides, of course. Two possibilities
have been revised within the last few months, and these two are at the
moment in circulation. But I have you in mind for them, if they should
come back to this desk.

Miss Shedd has expressed her gratitude for your kind interest,
and she has expressed the hope that together we can find something you
will want. She is with her husband at the U.S.Naval Air Base at Jamaica (he is
a civilian engineer there), and as soon as this rush of editing is over, there
will no doubt be some excellent reportage-pieces, Margaret Shedd style.

110 W. Houston St., N. Y.
Gramercy 7-1042

Encl:

GIANT: by Margaret Shedd
Return envelop.

1192 Page St.,
San Francisco.

August 2, 1941

Mr. Robert Penn Warren,
Southern Review,
Baton Rouge, La.

My dear Mr. Warren;

I am submitting several poems by Rosalie
Moore and Jeanne McGahey, upon whose work you have commented
in the past.

These poems are from a group written after they had
done some work in surrealist techniques. They are not interested
in writing true surrealism, however, but in imagery which on
first reading will have the violence of surrealistic association,
with a most definite accord on rereading: as in "the birds,
their shadows a fall of stones", "the mirror-turning autumn",
"the marsh eyes and moss body of love."

Mrs. McGahey is working to obtain a Picasso-type
distortion of a realistic scene, with barely enough rep-
resentationalism to give clear reference for the images used.

Both these writers have been published in Furioso--
in addition to magazines mentioned before--since their last
poems submitted to you; and Mrs. McGahey has been accepted
for New Directions' 1941 issue of "Five Young American Poets".

March 30, 1941

Miss Irene Hendry
Dogwood Lane
Rye, New York

Dear Miss Hendry:

Mr Warren and I have both gone over this batch
of poems pretty carefully and have corresponded
about them. We've decided against these, but
should be very happy if you would let us see
more of your work.

P. S. 'Westchester' and 'Mrs Townshend' seem
most interesting.

MARTIN F. HERZ

Office of the Chief of Staff,
Headquarters II Army Corps,
In the Field,
APO 302, Fort Bragg, N.C.
28 October 1941.

Editors,
Southern Review,
Louisiana State University Press,
Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

Gentlemen:

On re-reading my piece entitled "Propaganda and the Ideo-
logical Front" (mailed to you on 30 September), I find that it is not a
100% job. I am guilty of inconsistency on one count and of irrelevance
on another. This is a letter of correction. I am sorry that the first
article I turned in to you should have been somewhat sloppy.

Accordingly, I ask you to make two amendments:

1. On page 10, _omit_ "especially if we commit the fallacy of doing so by way of reasoning." This is inconsistent. I was too ex-uberant there. The word fallacy is inapplicable in view of what was said on page 7 about the shock which even the consciously arbitrary may experience when confronted with logical refutation. It will be good to _omit_ on page 7 "This is important, as we shall see below," and to _insert_ on page 10: "As we have seen before, by using logic on a mystic, we are striking at best only a glancing blow." - This will eliminate a certain confusion which I fear existed in the article toward the end.

2. On examining the third quotation from "Mythus" on page 3, ("The life of a race... &c"), I find that it is irrelevant, because it refers to syllogism in a strictly limited, historical field only. We may dispute Rosenberg there, but that would be a private quarrel, having no bearing on the broad question of criteria dealt with in the essay. I suggest you _omit_ that quotation.

Whatever merit my piece may have had, is of course only en-
hanced by these corrections. I still think the article of interest, and
of some importance.

P.S. I may mention, parinthetically, that I have translated these
thoughts into definite suggestions for propaganda employed as a tactical
weapon. Such material, however, is either in German or concerns itself
with technical aspects. - MFH.

NATIONAL RESOURCES PLANNING BOARD
CO-SPONSOR

WORK PROJECTS ADMINISTRATION
OPERATING AGENCY

FEDERAL WORKS AGENCY
PUBLIC WORK RESERVE

WASHINGTON AUDITORIUM
19TH STREET AND NEW YORK AVENUE
WASHINGTON, D. C.

December 18, 1941

Mr. J. E. Palmer
Managing Editor
Southern Review
Louisiana State University
Baton Rouge, Louisiana

Dear Mr. Palmer:

I am herewith enclosing a copy of a paper which Leonard Allen and I have recently prepared, which is an over-all on post-war planning in the country. The article represents one of three which Allen and I are preparing and I thought that, because of its general nature, you might be interested in it.

I must apologize for sending you a carbon copy but it is the only one available at this time. Since we are anxious to place these articles at an early date, because of their timeliness, I would greatly appreciate word from you as to whether or not you can use it.

Since I am not sending this to you in my official capacity, I would greatly appreciate if you would address your reply to my home: 360 Arlington Village, Arlington, Virginia.

JH:ap

Enclosure

January 10, 1942.

Mr. J. E. Palmer, Managing Editor
Southern Review
Louisiana State University
Baton Rouge, Louisiana

Dear Mr. Palmer:

Following my letter of December 18 to which
was attached manuscript of an article by Leonard Allen
and myself, I would greatly appreciate word from you
as to whether you intend to use the article.

I would greatly appreciate prompt reply be-
cause we have already placed the second article in this
series of three.

Fairfield, Conn.

April 3, 1942.

Mr. Charles W. Pipkin.

Editor Southern Review.
Baton Rouge, La.

Dear Mr. Pipkin;—

Would you be good enough to read the enclosed story? I hope you will like it well enough to punish it but if not, won't you please write and tell me what you don't like about it? I realize this is asking a great deal of a busy editor but, I am an unknown writer, committed by the kind of material that chooses me and my way of treating it, to the type of magazine you publish and I admire. So, if you can help me in any way to come up to your very high standard, I assure you it will be deeply appreciated.

R.F.D.# 2, Box 182.

Fairfield, Conn.

Les Editions de l'Arbre

340, ave Kensington, Westmount
Montréal, Fltzroy 8658

Robert Charbonneau
Claude HurtUBISE

Montréal, le 26 février 1942.

Southern Review,
Louisiana State University Press,
University, La.,
U.S.A.

Monsieur,

Seriez-vous intéressé à publier par tranches un intéressant ouvrage sur Quisling par un ancien ministre des affaires étrangères de Norvège, gouverneur actuel de la Norges Bank à Londres, M. Arnold Raestad. Ce texte est en anglais.

Nous avons aussi un "Message à de jeunes an-
glaises" de M. André David qui pourrait vous intéresser.
M. David qui est un écrivain français de renom poursuit
actuellement des recherches à Hollywood avec M. Charles
Boyer. Il a déjà écrit un livre sur les grands amis an-
glais de la France, MM. Churchill, Eden, Duff-Cooper et
autres, qu'il a connus personnellement à Paris.

Nous vous serions reconnaissants de nous ré-
pondre immédiatement étant donné que nous voulons publier
ces livres en français prochainement.

Agréez, Monsieur, l'expression de nos meilleurs
sentiments.

RC-CH:MP

Editors: CLEANTH BROOKS, JR. • CHARLES W. PIPKIN • ROBERT PENN WARREN

THE SOUTHERN REVIEW

J. E. PALMER, Managing Editor

University Station,
Baton Rouge, Louisiana

March 4, 1942

Les Editions de L'Arbe
340, ave Kensington, Westmount
Montreal, Canada

Gentlemen:

We are very sorry, but the
Southern Review expects to suspend
publication with the Spring, 1942, issue.
Since this issue has already been filled,
the editors are unable to consider
additional manuscripts. However, we
wish to thank you for your suggestions.

2 Reservoir Street,
New Haven, Connecticut

November 4, 1941

Charles W. Pipkin, Ed.,
Southern Review,
Louisiana State Univ.,
Baton Rouge, La.

Dear Mr. Pipkin,

In all sincerity I am sending the enclosed poems to
you, with the hope that you will find them acceptable for the
Southern
Review. If met with your approval, there are others that I would like
to send.

My work has appeared in Florida, New York, New Jersey,
Pennsylvania, and Connecticut newspapers and magazines, and the follow-
ing anthologies; The World's Fair Anthology of Verse; The Poetic Voice
of America.

I would so appreciate hearing from you, Mr. Pipkin,
and learning more about your publication.

In the event that you find any of my verse acceptable,
may I know in which copy it would appear, please?

I will be grateful for the return of the unused manuscript
with your reply.

May I hope to hear from you?

With every best wish for Southern Review, I am,

230 Desha Road
Lexington, Ky.

June 28, 1941

Mr. Robert Penn Warren
The Southern Review
Louisiana State University Press
University, Louisiana

Dear Mr. Warren:

Your comments on my story, *Witch's Sabbath*, were so encouraging that I've been waiting until I did something I thought you might like. I do hope that you will want to use *I'm Afraid, Too*.

I'm pretty much upset about stories in general. I keep turning them out because I can't help myself. But it seems that getting the first one printed is almost impossible. I know you must have had the same experience before you reached *Night Rider*.

If you don't care for the story, I would appreciate anything you might say about it. Or any suggestions you might make will be welcomed.

re:8/28/41

The College of the City of New York

CONVENT AVENUE AND 139TH STREET

25 September, 1940

Robert Penn Warren, Esq.
The Southern Review
University, Louisiana

Dear Mr Warren,

Thank you for your letter of the 18th. I am sorry you
were unable to find room for my essay. Perhaps later on you may
be able to use another chapter. Meanwhile I shall be very glad,
as you suggest, to review for you.

It might be useful for you to know what my main lines of
interest are. There is satire, of course, but I suppose there is
seldom very much of theoretical significance in that realm. Possibly,
however, a sufficiently important *example* of satire might come along
for you to desire to notice it. Besides satire, I have three other
fields: literary criticism and aesthetics, the romantic period, and
biography. In the first and third of these I give courses at the
New School for Social Research, in addition to my satire course there;
in the second and third I give course in the graduate division of the
School of Education at the College here.

I don't wish to appear too forward with you, so you will
take it as only very tentative, I hope, if I suggest a few specific
possibilities in which I am interested. In literary criticism,
David Daiches' *Poetry and the Modern World*; in the romantic period,
Norman Ivey White's *Shelley*; in biography, Willard Connelly's *The
Reign of Beau Brummel*, Alice Glasgow's *Sheridan of Drury Lane*,
Karl Schriftgiesser's *Families*, and John T. Flynn's *The Fourteen
Decisive Fortunes of History*. The last two of these might make an
interesting group review. I have not yet arranged to do any of the
books I have mentioned elsewhere.

Or if there is some other idea you should specifically
wish to propose for my handling in a review I should be glad to
have you suggest it.

THE CITY COLLEGE-DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH
CONVENT AVENUE AND 139TH STREET

21 October, 1940

Robert Penn Warren, Esq.
Managing Editor, The Southern Review
University, Louisiana

Dear Mr Warren,

Some time ago, in connection with an essay on satire which I sent you, you asked me if I would be willing to do reviewing for you, an enquiry to which I have already replied that I should be glad to do so.

But meanwhile it has been occurring to me that perhaps one of the strong reasons for your returning an essay interesting enough to make you suggest that I become one of your reviewers might have been-- for you speak of the pressure on your space--an excessive length. This has been caused by the fact that in general I have sent entire chapter units from the book on satire of which they are parts. Would you be interested, I wonder, in seeing shorter subsections of some of those chapters that can be so divided? If so, I shall very willingly look over my material to see what briefer parts can stand alone, and submit one of those to you.

Will you let me know if this suggestion interests you?

KARLTON KELM

128 EAST AVE., NORWALK, CONN.

Dear Mr. Warren,

I've been out of short stories for several years, having brought out two novels with Bobbs Merrill, and doing radio, but before that you may recall seeing my stories in the little magazines, American Mercury, North American Review, and reprinted in O'Brien. I'm anxious to return now to the short story field, and know no better place to restart than with you. I like this FATHER'S DAY as well as anything I've done and count it among my several best stories, especially because of its significance and its thoroughly American flavor.

19 March

1290 Ocean Avenue
Brooklyn, New York

October 21, 1941

Dear Sirs:

I am enclosing five poems which I
hope you find fit to be published in
your magazine.

23, Herringthorpe Grove,
Rotherham, Yorkshire,
England.

8.7.38.

Dear Sir,

The enclosed has been seen by
Mr. Eliot, who was good enough to say
that he had read it with much interest
and appreciation, and to comment on the
passage relating to his orthodoxy - he
could not, however, use an essay relating
to his own work in the Criterion. The
editor of the New English Weekly also
commented very favourably, and is sending
me books to review on the strength of it.
He invites me to use parts of it in two
short articles of the length used by that
journal, but I would prefer it to appear
in (approximately) its present form. (†
should not object (for instance) to
omission of the passage relating to
Miss Sayers.)

I think it might be of more
interest to you than to most editors

1

p.t.o.

23, Herzingthorpe Grove,
Rotherham, Yorkshire, England.

30.9.38.

Dear Mr. Warren,

Thank you for your letter returning my notes
on *Murder in the Cathedral*. I have no article likely to
interest you at the moment, but I hope I may have some time.
However, I enclose a verse contribution for your consider-
ation.

I should be very pleased if you cared to let
me have any reviewing to do. The Editor of the New English
Weekly has kindly spoken very well of my reviews of verse,
poetic drama, etc. It occurs to me that arrangements might
be made with certain publishers to send books direct to me
for the review in your Quarterly.

Robert Penn Warren Esq.,

And so I grew,
Stumbling along my own inevitable path,
Reaching the years of accountability
As the elders used to say,
Peering with quickness into every source of pain and joy,
Reaching incautiously into laughter, love,
And like an adventuring asp
Turning to strike when struck,
Thrusting along through briars to know the everything,
Finding myself against the inevitable wall.

And therefore having taken footing
In that blessed earth of understanding yet not lack of motion,
I find the earth still green and new with breeding,
The sky still blue and leaping with bright stars,
The love of man and all his movings still yet unrequited,
My self still open to the fervent question
Of what has been done- what shall be done;
My world and yet that one that blends with mine,
The one of duplicated humans,
I find this world, this group of worlds
Full to blinding for my eyes,
Awesome to deafening for my ears,
Logical to maddening for my mind,
Breathless to satiating for my speedless self.

ANOTHER ENGLAND

Remember: the willowed lawn, the wall of laurel,
the hybrid roses, the terrace thick with thyme.
There we walked in a wished world veined already
with rivering cracks. But love was our concern.
Darwin was our philosopher. We knew
survival of the British to be a cosmic fiat.
Noblesse oblige we learned, but did not learn
history well enough to foretell disaster,
and could not read in the gardener's averted face
the anger and hatred of men grown sick of serfdom.

Remember: the busy dancefloor, ---matrimonial market
where obedient bargains for the sake of breed
were struck to music. We were young then, and
a battleship
was an arsenal of adventure and love. Wine at
dinner
and a seated toast to the king, and the boatswain's
mate
piping punctiliously to the bored sea lord
the shrill salute of custom.

We had not been told that the sailor was
syphilitic
and society worse diseased. We did not know

The Helen Land Agency

643 Hudson Street, 142 West 10th Street
New York, N. Y.

January 6, 1942

Mr. Charles W. Pipkin, Editor
Southern Review
University of Louisiana
Baton Rouge, Louisiana

Dear Mr. Pipkin:

I am handling a writer who has done extensive research on and has several bibliographies published on the American Possessions. He is prepared to write, at very short notice, one or a series of articles on these islands from any angle which might be of interest to your publication and its readers.

In addition to our old possessions, this man is able to write a series of articles analyzing our lend-lease acquisitions and what they can mean to us in the present crisis. He has done several studies for the Navy Department in the past and is now engaged in working on a series of monographs and annotated bibliographies for them on the eight British naval bases recently acquired. He has access to original sources on the islands due to long established contact with the people in charge. He is able to get any type of information not completely censored by the War Department.

Now, as never before, many people, formerly completely disinterested, want to know what role the natives on these islands and our other possessions will play in our history, in addition to being the present base of operations.

They want to know what these far-off places mean to the United States in terms of "fifth column" activity, markets, culture and trade. They want it stated in a simple direct style, in language easily understood. I shall appreciate hearing from you as to whether you are prepared to accept such material, in which phase or possessions you are particularly interested, and how many words you would require. Naturally, we have thought of a few angles ourselves which I shall be delighted to discuss with you by letter or phone. A complete biography of the author will be sent you upon request.

Emory University, Georgia.

December 10th, 1941.

Mr.J.E.Palmer, Editor,
Louisiana State University,
Louisiana.

Dear Mr. Palmer,

I am sending you a manuscript on the situation in Georgia which I hope may be included in the Southern Review. I am a professor's wife of fourteen years residence at Emory University. I have a Master's degree in History from the University of Michigan and I have done considerable writing. In fact, part of this manuscript was put in the Hopwood Award contest at the University of Michigan this summer. I have had much experience in civic and political enterprises, and feel qualified as an observer of social questions.

This manuscript has been seen by Mr. John Paschall, Miss Emily Woodward of the Georgia Public Forum, and by the Journalism department at Emory University, who all found it very interesting.

Hoping that you will find it interesting also, I remain,

Emory University, Georgia

January 8th, 1942.

Mr. J.E. Palmer, Editor,
Louisiana State University, La..

Dear Mr. Palmer,

About a month ago, I sent a manuscript to you entitled "We- The People." I have received no reply as to whether you received it or not, and naturally I am getting anxious. Could you give me some reassurance as to its safety ?

Thank You.

P. Dorothy Lewis (Mrs. George T.)

P.S. Please address all mail to me in the name of Mrs. George T. Lewis.

CLEVELAND, OHIO

FEBRUARY 14, 1942

THE EDITOR
THE SOUTHERN REVIEW
LOUISIANA STATE UNIVERSITY PRESS
UNIVERSITY OF LOUISIANA
BATON ROUGE, LOUISIANA

DEAR SIR:

I AM SENDING YOU A SHORT STORY ENTITLED, "DARK SPLINTERS." I HOPE VERY MUCH THAT YOU MAY BE ABLE TO USE IT.

I AM ENCLOSING A SELF-ADDRESSED STAMPED ENVELOPE FOR ITS RETURN IN CASE YOU FIND IT UNSUITED TO YOUR NEEDS.

HBL
ENCL.

5458 Greenwood Avenue
Chicago Illinois

13 August 1941

Editors,
Southern Review:

Dear Sirs:

I am enclosing some poems slightly earlier than those which I sent at the beginning of this summer. I have done quite a bit of work since the ones which I sent you previously--that is, the ones which are later than these--but, since I am not sure that later chronology is a guarantee of greater value, I would like you to see these before you see any of those later ones.

In your summer issue, I was especially interested in the story, The Fancy Woman, and Blackmur's review of recently published poetry. I was rather puzzled by the "Textual Criticism" by Dudley Fitts--the only really fitting assignations of readings and emendations, outside of Hicks' 'Fitts has little wit', was the reiteration of Winters: 'Maud'. I don't see why most of the others couldn't apply equally, if at all, to any of the critics included--and why Tristram Coffin?

I hope these poems will be received sympathetically and would appreciate some specific criticism upon them, if that were possible.

Paul Lyons
R F.D. # 6.
Concord, N.H.

Mr. Cleanth Brooks,
Editor
Southern Review,

Dear Sir,

I wish to acknowledge my appreciation
for your criticism of my efforts in poetry. In re-
vising I've discovered that overwriting and a lack of clarity are the chief faults. I am sending a revision of "Magister Linguae Latinae Senex" which several neutral observers feel is the best of the lot,

July 14, 1941

12 Bearden Ave
Asheville, N.C.

Poetry Editor
Southern Review
University of Louisiana
Baton Rouge, La.

Dear Sir:

I am very happy when I read the Southern Review to realize that one of the best literary magazines in America is now published in the south. For though I live in the north now, I was born in North Carolina and grew up there.

When I was in college at the Woman's College of the University of North Carolina we still agonized over Mencken's " Sahara of the Bozart" and yet at that time we had so little to point to which would refute his statements.

Of course a corollary to my pride in the magazine is the hope that I may some day achieve publication in it.

I wish you a continuation of the success you are already achieving.

Julia mcGrane
7/31/41

35 Spruce Street
Waterville, Maine

May 24, 1941

Dear Mr. Brooks,

There aren't any more stories to send you. I haven't got around to writing any more of them this winter, although I have several in mind. I have been working on a novel, which I am afraid isn't very exciting, and writing some verse. Do you think there would be any point in my sending any poems to you? The question is rather academic now, because I haven't anything very good on hand, most of the stuff having been taken.

Thank you for the information about jobs at L.S.U. and for your recommendations. I have accepted a graduate assistantship at Iowa for next year. It doesn't pay enough for us to live on, and anyway I am not fond of the idea of teaching or of taking more work. Perhaps I will have to. But in a few weeks we are going job hunting in New York. Perhaps something will turn up.

Are you going to be in New York for the college English meetings or whatever they are? Someone told me you were going to speak there at the end of summer. Perhaps if you are there and are not busy all the time, I may be able to see you.

GRAND CENTRAL
ANNEX

<table><tr><td>THIS SIDE OF CARD IS FOR ADDRESS</td></tr></table>

P. MAGG

APT. 4, 300 EAST 39TH STREET, NEW YORK CITY

November 10, 1941

Editor
SOUTHERN REVIEW
Baton Rouge, La.

Dear Sir,

I am writing for a group here
to inquire following:

1. Do you consider the work of new writers?

2. What rate of payment-if any ?

3. Lengths of articles preferred?

Thank you for whatever reply you may
send, at your leisure. We have several
things to offer you.

Dear Editors:

I should appreciate it if you would look over this
short story. Its written around a southern incident,
although I have not wished to set it in a given state.

I think it has value, essentially, and hope it will meet
the requirements of your magazine.

Sincerely, Varney Mason

12/11/71

Brooklyn College

BEDFORD AVENUE AND AVENUE H
BROOKLYN, N. Y.

DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH
ACADEMIC BUILDING

September 26

Mr. Robert Penn Warren
Editor Southern Review

My dear Mr. Warren:

My book, the Novel and Society, is to be published within a
few weeks by the University of North Carolina Press. Will you give it a
serious review in your magazine? It is not leftish, but the winds of fashion have changed, and I think you will be interested at least in the point
of view here.

I have criticized the novel on Aristotelian and Thomistic
principles, have related fiction to the environment in which it lives,
and traced the complicated relationship between what a man believes and
what he writes and the way he writes it. Although I have drawn my illustrations from the whole field of the modern novel I have made the intensive studies of six women novelists who have managed to retain human values in the midst of decadence.

I shall be most grateful for your attention in this
matter.

PASSED BY EXAMINER

No. 3304

THE SOUTHERN REVIEW
UNIVERSITY, LOUISIANA

THE SOUTHERN REVIEW

J. E. PALMER, Managing Editor

The Editors of The Southern Review regret to announce that the magazine faces suspension of publication with the spring issue of 1942 unless arrangements now not foreseen can be made before that date. Since the spring issue is already arranged for, the Editors are unable to consider additional manuscripts.

lead

WAIPIO--VALLEY OF PEACE

By: James M. McKinney

Probably nowhere else on earth is there a more picturesque and
peaceful spot than Waipio valley, situated on Hawaii island, largest
island in the Hawaiian group.

Certainly, in this exasperating and hectic age when the nations
of Europe are at each others throats, there simply can't be another
place under the sun more remotely unconcerned.

Europe's boundaries and customs may change overnight, but those
of Waipio valley have remained the same, back past the memory of men
or the recordings of history. It rightfully deserves the historian's
title, Cradle of Hawaii, which it bears.

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Hilo, second largest city in the territory, is a sprawling urban area of some 16,000 inhabitants. Here, one may read screaming headlines of war news in Honolulu newspapers offered for sale on street corners by yelling newsboys. But in Waipio valley, just 60 miles away, scarcely a dozen persons will ever read those headlines or hear them shouted through a radio's loudspeaker.

Why? Well, Waipio valley is peace personified...peace multiplied by 2,000 feet of sheered cliffs. It is a peace that knows no ending because Waipio is perhaps the only community in all the world so uniquely situated as to be practically immune to outside interference.

Can you imagine a spot so placid and poetic that the chief noises you'll hear throughout the day are the barking of dogs, the quacking of ducks and the laughter of children as they all swim excitedly in the same swiftly-moving stream? Where on a moonlit night lunar rainbows arch delicately from cliff to cliff in ghostly, magnificent and unbelievable splendor...where the oldest natives are but over-grown children and where everyone lives but to love and to leave his neighbor to himself?

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Fantastic you say? Then come with me on a tour of Waipio, Eden of the Pacific!

Far out over a shimmering ocean the early morning sun gleams bright-
ly; a lone fish eagle soars to and fro on a winged pendulum. Bees hum,
birds and men sing. In the distance a mile and a half of crescent-shaped
beach stretches thread-like between two towering cliffs.

The surf roars in never-ending crescendo while eternal, balmy breezes
gently fan a thousand fronds hundreds of feet below. A lone canoeist finds
the going tough right at the entrance to Waipio's swiftly-moving stream and
is paddling rapidly, looking for all the world like some tiny dwarf, in
order to make slight progress against the current.

Further over to our left are the neatly laid-out patches of taro be-
longing to the natives of Waipio. And as we round the cliff coursing down-
ward, bringing the valley's expansive floor more and more into view, you
agree at once: There's no other place quite like it! It's a fairyland
of childhood memory brought to reality; a magnificent, gaudily-colored dream.

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One almost hesitates lest, like other dreams, Waipio will retreat
and the dreaming will have been done in vain.

A world traveler, seeing Waipio for her first time, was so impressed
with the awe-inspiring panorama it afforded that she limply sat on a nearby
rock, gazed in speechless wonder and shed pure tears of inspirational joy!
"I wept," she confessed, "without the slightest bit of shame."

A native of another land who now lives on this island, readily admits that he visits Waipio's brink at every opportunity "just for the boost" it gives him. "Each time I look down on such a peaceful scene it just makes me want to write a poem," he laughs. "I'm no poet so that's out of the question; my next best bet is to try a song...I'm no Lawrence Tibbet so in order to get all the exhuberance off my chest I just let go and yell my loudest!"

Such is the inspiration Waipio affords. How much more fascinating
it must be to live there, far removed from the hub-bub and hurry of our
own turbulent world.

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"To know Waipio is to detect modernity and everything for which it stands," chronicled a missionary to its people over a hundred years ago!

"No carriage, no matter how sturdily constructed, can descend into it; and once descended it would be of little value due to a total absence of anything that could be used as a right-of-way," he concluded.

Yes, and if his day and age served then as any criterion, how remotely removed from any "modern" idea Waipio would seem to him today if he could but return and see it. For the valley and its peoples have not changed one whit since then, according to those who say their parents welcomed that same missionary to Hawaii island.

For here in a mid-Pacific paradise, where the only thing that even smacks of modernity is an old crank model, rural telephone, lives a group of people who are at once the friendliest, most contented and hospitable people you'll find anywhere.

Their home is the valley in its entirety. Each day is the same without growing monotonous. Practically self-sustaining, there's plenty in Waipio, but none to be wasted. One almost resents the presence of its lone telephone line; it seems such an intrustion!

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Waipio's precipitous cliffs the visitor must climb down if he is
to gain first-hand knowledge of a group of humans living in another world.

The crude, shelf-like trails leading into the valley are extremely
steep and precarious. For ages those shelves have offered the only descent
into Waipio. There has never been a vehicle of any sort in the valley.
There is a total absence of all radios, horns, bells, whistles, engines
and other noise-making gadgets of civilization.

There are those who would speak of Waipio folk in hushed tones:
"Unfortunate," "Illiterate," or "Just too bad!" Well and good. But the
only description that seems to fit is simply "Lucky." Gazing at Waipio
one gains the impression that after all we aren't as smart as we think we
are, what with our mile-a-minute pace through life with all its attendant
noise, stench and nervous excitement!

Waipio folk are mostly Hawaiian-Chinese. Quite a few have lived in
the valley since birth, seldom climbing its cliffs for a peek at the out-
side world.

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Their transportation, other than on foot...their "China clipper
and 20th century limited, all rolled into one"...is a 20-head team of
small, burro-like mules. These bring taro to the top and take back
various supplies for the neighborhood. A peculiar thing about these
animals is that they have over-sized nostrils. They appear enormously
dilated even when the animal is breathing normally.

These mules are valley bred. Their huge nostrils are a result of
generations of cliff-climbing, where huge gulps of fresh air are needed
in bringing loads of taro (the Hawaiian's staff of life!) out of Waipio and
to within reach of a Hilo market. Slow you say? Well life's like that in
Waipio.

The valley's educational facilities? Whatta school! Remember the
little red schoolhouse of song and story? Of course you do. Waipio school
is an exact replica of that one which eventually rotted down on the banks
of Reedy creek back there in central Georgia. What memories Waipio's school
conjured up! It was just like stepping back into a chapter of life for-
ever gone.

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Back to the days when we scratched a heel with a toe and spelled
typhoid with two "fs." Back to the days when it was with joyous antici-
pation we waited the opportunity of carrying Sarah Jane's books, as we
trudged homeward at dusk. One almost wishes he could turn back the pages
of time and return to the 6th grade here in Waipio.

Leaning proudly at the helm of Waipio's temple of learning is an
aged Hawaiian, "Professor" Mahuku (Sam!) Kaaekuahiwi. A veteran disciple
of the three Rs, he has taught in the valley's one classroom for 38 years.
Considered a "natural" at the art by a local school board, he has seen
three generations of valley folk in his classes.

And as little as they realize it, those 29 mischievous underlings
now attending his classes, will forever fondle one grand childhood memory...
that of a kindly old hoary-haired gentleman who knew and understood them
perhaps even better than did their own parents.

They'll remember too, being soundly thumped on knuckles for "disturb-
ing recitation" and that so long as they could whisper under a shout it was
permissable to talk across the aisle.

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And how will they ever forget that knees and knuckles could be-
come caked with dirt as a result of playing at marbles, but that teeth
must pass inspection twice daily? And that when Prof. Sam called "class,"
they must step up and gather round his chair in a semi-circle and read
of speak their "piece" in a deafening shout, and always in the same sing-
song monotone

Prof. Sam's master of the situation as he carries on, there in his
venerable emporium of knowledge. School "takes in" at eight with the
ringing of a large, brass hand bell; two minutes later the Lord's Prayer
has been mumbled in unison and the happy gathering follows Prof. Sam's
leading of My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean. Then almost immediately, 29
mischievous heads settle down to the serious task of figuring out how
to keep Prof. Sam off their necks till recess! They don't always succeed.

The casual visitor is always welcome at Prof. Sam's school. One
can't visit his classroom today, not even for a minute--come away and
truthfully say he hasn't at least learned a little something.

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It was through the kindness of Waipio's lone educator that the writer was able to learn something of the valley's importance in Hawaii's past. It is literally steeped in ancient legends and Hawaiian folklore. It is thought by many aged natives to be the first spot of land ever touched by mankind in these islands.

A legend, which is supported by some histories on the subject, has it that Havaii-Loa, an ancient Polynesian explorer, landed his outrigger canoes in Waipio valley long before anyone ever heard of Captain Cook.

He is supposed to have come from Savaii, which, in those days, was the Hawaiian's method of saying that he was a foreigner. Havaii-Loa is supposed to have returned to his native land and to have married a beautiful woman, afterwards returning to Waipio where he set up the first kingdom ever to be inaugurated in these islands.

From Havaii-Loa and wife the present-day Hawaiian race is supposed to have sprung. Prof Sam prefers to believe the story in its entirety and what pleases him on the subject should completely satisfy anyone else!

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Reposing in that little red schoolhouse is a time-worn book with thin and fragile pages...pages that have been thumbed threadbare...pages that for all the world could literally live and breathe, so indellibly have their glowing accounts of Hawaii's past been impressed upon the mind of Prof. Sam. Truly, he has become a walking sequel to those pages for he can recite the entire volume, verbatim. It's called a History Book of the Hawaiian Race and was printed way back there in the early part of the last century.

That aged volume...its coverings long since vanished...relates Waipio's past in most interesting fashion; how at one time the valley was a teeming "metropolis" of some 1,500 souls and the "capitol" of the territory. The highest alii (chief) in all the land had his residence in Waipio...and how the people did love and worship him!

According to its accounts there has never been a battle inside the confines of Waipio valley--not even a first class private fight--which gives it a clean slate right up to and including world war No. two.

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Just around its northern cliff, however, occurred a very decisive
naval battle about the middle of the year 1780. This engagement is known
as the battle of Mokuohai. During this encounter, Kamehameha defeated the
then ruling chieftain of Waipio and took possession of the valley.

An account of the battle reads: Waipio's Alii met with immediate and
complete defeat because Kamehameha's fleet had in it two small sailing
schooners and two or three firearms belonging to Isaac Davis and John Young!
Which, to the best of our ability as a peruser of records, is the first
mention of white men taking part in the affairs of these islands.

Getting back to the days when Waipio was supreme...it seems there was
a certain youth of low birth by the name of Umi Liloa, who lived in another
village outside the valley. When Umi was 16 his mother called him to her
side and informed him that his father was the Alii Kapu, or highest chief
in all the land.

To prove her story she exhibited a yellow feather lei, a red malo or
loin cloth and a Palolu, which was an ivory neck piece worn by royalty.

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She also showed him a shiny palaoa, which was a long spear used by chieftains when they sallied forth to do battle. She explained that his father had left these articles of royalty with her and that when he, Umi, became old enough, she was to give them to him and he was to present himself before the king where he would be recognized as a member of the royal family.

Umi was afraid at first...should the high chief refuse to recognize him because of his mother's low station in life, he would then be put to death! But he knew his mother's story was on the level and after mustering all the courage at his command he arrived one morning bright and early at the entrance to his father's palace grounds.

Quick as a flash, before guards had time to stop him, Umi was past the tabu sticks set up at the main entrance to keep out commoners. It meant death to pass these tabu sticks without permission; it meant stiff punishment even then, to pass by them in a standing or upright position. When coming into the presence of royalty a commoner must lie flat and crawl an inch at a time. This, in order to show due respect for their leaders!

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Umi, however, scurried on past all who would save him from such a hapless fate and soon arrived at his father's sacred chamber. After hearing the boy's story and inspecting the articles of royalty which he presented, the Alii Kapu publicly recognized him to be his son, whom he wished to succeed him on the throne, in Waipio.

It was under Umi's leadership that Waipio became the Honolulu of the islands. Stories and legends of that day and age are legion. Umi took less from his subjects and gave more of the milk of human kindness than any chief who had ever gone before him. Umi's golden rule: Leave alone your neighbor unless he needs help. Except for petty thievery, lawlessness didn't exist. For stealing, one was punished by being forced to work on the high chief's lawns and huts!

Incarceration was unknown. Nobody wanted to leave, anyway! Beyond was the unknown; the valley was the only home they wanted...and whatta home! Taxes (Oh yes! they had taxes) were paid with pigs, poi, kukui nuts and a few rare and choice woods.

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All were contented and happy and there were many feasts. Life was free and easy and floated along as though on a song--the quintessence of peace.

Here and there over the valley's crazy quilt of a floor one comes upon small family plots...little fenced-in spaces where the dead were put away for their everlasting sojourn with peace.

High in the precipitous walls of the cliffs one may still find graves dug by ancestors of the present race. It was a custom to bury the dead as far out of reach of marauding animals as possible. Where a grave is now found on the valley's floor it is covered with huge stones, presumably for the same purpose.

There is one graveyard now shared in common. Upwards of 30 mounds dot this enclosure...but it's hard to imagine a funeral in Waipio valley!

On Waipio's beach stands Pakaalana heiau, now a shrine. A heiau was an ancient, stone temple of worship. Pakaalana stands on the site of Chief Umi's palace, which bore the same name.

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Our tour drawing to a close with the passing of Pakaalana, we bid an affectionate aloha to Prof. Sam and his 29 charges; to his little red schoolhouse and its unchanged European map; to a quiet that seems "deafening," and to a peace that's as enduring as eternity. Even to those souls of a bygone age, and to those planted in eternal slumber here in the protecting shadows of Waipio's cliffs, we bid an aloha of reverence.

Certainly, the experience has been an inspirational one--for Waipio seems to bid us adopt this creed:

> Go placidly amid noise and haste and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender, be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant...they too, have their story.

> Avoid loud and aggressive persons. If you compare yourself with others you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater or lesser persons than yourself. Take kindly of the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.

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Do not distress yourself with dark imaginings for many fears are born of fatigue and lonliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline be gentle with yourself for you are a child of the universe no less than Waipio folk. And like the stars and trees and lunar rainbows, studding her magnificent cliffs, you have a right to be here!

And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations may be in this noisy confusion called Life, keep Waipio's peace in your soul.

For with all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it's still a beautiful world! Be cheerful...strive to be happy.

-30-

lead

I'M A-GIN IT!

By: James M. McKinney

I happen to be an American citizen who holds a commission as an officer in the reserve corps, U. S. army.

In order to obtain that commission, granted through the president himself, I had to swear that I would "defend America against all enemies, both here and abroad," at any time it became necessary so to do.

That oath is as binding today as it was when made, six years ago. For my own part, either with or without an officer's commission, I feel I owe that much to my country..."to defend it against all enemies, both foreign and domestic," whenever necessary.

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But the one thing which now seems to cause some concern among men
in similar circumstances is the question: Is that defense necessary in
the present European crisis?

From what one is able to read concerning the present fiasco, and
partially basing our conclusions on past experiences in an imbroglio of
European origin, it would seem that a few money-maddened industrialists
and cheap politicians are again indulging in that same silly, disgusting
warmongering which so insidiously preceded world war No. 1.

When someone comments that "America should defend democracy by tak-
ing part in this war," that's me--the average American--he's telling to
sail the Atlantic and get shot up. Nine chances out of ten ("if and when")
he'll sit comfortably at home and keep telling the women of the nation how
to knit socks! He'll continue to wear a white collar in comparative safety
and daily tell himself and others: "I'm doing more for the boys at home
than I could at the front."

Didn't that happen--oh so many times--back in '16 and '17?

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These self-styled crusaders for democracy didn't stop shoving
democracy down the American throat, even after the last farce had ended,
for hundreds of them today are being paid fat bonuses and pensions for
having "defended" America--from an over-stuffed chair!

When I dropped in on a friend of ours one evening last week, he
was amazed that I should pay him a purely social call since that sort of
thing's about faded out of the American picture completely. "Most call-
ers these days lug an armload o' gadgets 'round to try and sell you,"
he laughed.

As I stepped into that man's parlor I found one of the most beauti-
full domestic scenes you ever saw. There he was, comfortably dressed in
house slippers and robe, explaining to his small daughter the whys and
wherefores of the main commercial item his firm features on the local
market.

She was busily engaged in taking down notes on what he said, pre-
paratory to writing a theme on the subject as her "class project."

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Seated on a tall cushion at his feet she flashed a friendly smile and exclaimed: "You'll just hafta wait till daddy finishes, because I hafta have this project completed for tomorrow !"

And did I wait? You bet I did! As I sat there watching the two at work--the pains he'd take to bring his talk down to a level for her-- I thought: This is the sort of thing for which I'd willingly fight; but is the American home now facing extinction? Is it necessary for peace-loving Americans to send money, machines, men and mules into another hemisphere to fight another bloody war for the self-same "principles" we "defended" during the last war?

While they worked I saw not one, but two persons in that room who were learning--she, how to write a "project"; he, how to describe his goods so that even a child could understand. He'll be a better salesman as a result of that session with his little girl. More, he'll be a "swell pal," of which she'll tell every playmate at school...do you mean to say "This, the American way of life, is now being threatened by conditions in Europe?" How? Why?

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The very cradle of our democracy--the American home--is threatened all right enough...but those threats exist in our own communities, not in Europe.

We adults don't spend enough time with young America, the material for the democracy of tomorrow. We're too important. We're too busy seeing to it that so-and-so gets in the legislature; our law-makers must attend well to our "democratic" needs. Many of us never see our homes before midnight, every night. We spend infinitely more time in our cars and our clubs than we do in our homes. Is it any wonder Junior then grows up to be a sniveling, smart-alecky brat, hunting for bigger and hotter night spots?

Our local circuit court recently announced that more workers were needed in its juvenile department...two additional probation officers, among others. What's wrong with defending democracy on the home front for a change? Doesn't it sound just a little better than crossing an ocean, slaughtering and getting slaughtered, all for a cause we know just didn't pan out the last time we were that foolish?

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At times I think we're the biggest nation of square-headed, double-barreled suckers under the sun. When we say England's now fighting to preserve democracy, and in Stentorial tomes we proclaim: "We should help Britain s-a-v-e democracy"...just what democracy do we have in mind?

What is there across the Atlantic, that to us back here on our farms and in our villages, is worth a fight? I submit...there is nothing!

Of course, money-maddened industrialists, accustomed to domination and domineering, have lost European markets for their goods! Else why fight, ever?

If memory serves correctly, Czechoslovakia was the only small nation Hitler ran through, that even smelled like a democracy. And at Munich, Britain sold Czechoslovakia down the river for a song. Do you still think she's interested in preserving democracy? I say NOT MUCH!

England's interested in preserving only one thing, and that's England. For centuries she's been playing one European nation against another while maintaining a balance of power sufficient to guarantee supremacy on the high seas.

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It seems she manages to sell many of Europe's smaller nations on the idea they're "under British protection." What British protection? I, for one, haven't seen any evidence of a British army doing anything but getting itself licked, and that thoroughly.

If they'd roll up their sleeves--stop yelling for help--and do a little fighting for a change...sure, I believe we should stick our necks out to the extent of sending over the means with which to do the scraping. Why? Because (I suppose more than anything else) my parents were English; our nations speak the same language and have pretty much the same customs. Perhaps you can think of even more and better reasons.

The material we're sending now is tantamount to an out-and-out gift; Britain hasn't even begun to square away with us for materials, et cetera, during the last war. But then, you and I have heard the word GIVE! GIVE! GIVE!, until it leaves a ringing in our ears. Sure, there's argument against it all, but one seldom hears any of it.

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For instance: Who gives us anything? If we want something, don't we have to dig down (I do mean DOWN) in order to get it? Right now we stand a chance of being taxed half of every dollar we earn because bombers don't have the habit of hatching other bombers; I've yet to hear of anyone flushing a covey of them out of the woods like quail. Destroyers don't sell over American dime store counters at a dime-a-dozen.

I don't believe I'm pro-Hitler any more than I'm pro-Chile--or "pro" anything else under the sun. I hold no brief for Adolf's high-handed methods of aggression. Still he hasn't invaded America and I'm sure I'm not a personal enemy of a single one of his dumb followers; neither are they my enemies--yet. I'm even surer that I don't want to blow a single one of them (not even Adolf) to smithereens, just because they're enemies of Great Britain; it's necessary that they do something to me first. I've got to get angry before I can fight!

Just for the fun of it, do a complete about-face...turn this picture around, placing me on a street corner "somewhere in England." Suppose England's at peace and I'm shouting to the house tops that Japan, or some other nation's pouring in at the Golden Gate, fighting as they come!

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Suppose I'm asking England for money, ships, planes, and all other necessary supplies of war--food right up there at the top of the list; I'm asking for "all-out" aid! More important, I'm asking these things be GIVEN!! Then on top of it all I'm not denying that we sorta hope English troops will sally forth across the Atlantic (just for the sheer adventure of the thing) and get themselves blasted into another world in order to "protect America for England's sake."

Just what sort of block-headed fool do you suppose they'd brand me? Under those circumstances, I imagine Scotland Yard'd want me behind bars before sunset.

A solid son of our southern sticks, now sitting in a senate seat in Washington, only last June forged into the nation's headlines with: "As far as Hitler is concerned, the United States should react towards him as she did to Barbary coast pirates and Dillinger gangsters." He added: "A few bombers flown by Americans won't leave enough of Tokyo to build a bonfire...it's time the United States got tough."

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In othre words, our southern "statesman" shoots off his mouth by recommending a fight, even though we have to hunt for one all the way from Berlin to Tokyo. And why not? It's an admirable way to break into headlines and no one, reading his brave words, would suspect in the least that he doesn't have the intestinal fortitude to fight his own shadow. If America fights, it's a cinch this trustworthy "statesman" won't be in on it. You'll likely find him "defending" America from that same senate seat at 10 grand per year; his job comes under an entirely different classification from any you or I might hold...he knows that!

Putting it another way..."let's you and another fellow fight.
I'll hold your coats for you." His brand of legislation is needed just like 130 million of us need the seven-year itch!

The more practical person (it seems to me) is he, who maintains that although a fellow wins a fight, he's still the loser for having fought it. In the first place, fights are expensive...and if one fights hard enough, someone's going to get murdered.

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When our mealy-mouthed, pusillanimous, cheap politicians insist
that "democracy is at stake," way over there on the other side of the
globe and needs some blood spilled in order to save it, why in tarnation
don't the other 99.9% of us who feel otherwise ask them to dash madly
over that way and start spilling it?

I submit that the average American doesn't care two hoots in hades
about fighting to "defend" anything but the American way of life; that
he believes his present form of self-rule has worked out to the best in-
terests of all concerned, and that if any other form of government were
set up, here, he couldn't enjoy the freedom of driving 35 miles per hour
past a traffic sign that says 20 !

To date--as far as he's concerned--no one in Europe has offended
him in the least; he hasn't an enemy on that side of the earth, and he's
certain he doesn't want to murder anyone over there. He doesn't even
want to visit the place except to look it over, meet friendly folk who
are glad to see him and to welcome his spending a few sheckels of his
hard-earned American dough.

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Some of our nation's leaders seem to be just acheing to get this
country in the mele, letting our service men murder and get murdered;
makes no difference whether all the wholesale slaughter makes rhyme or
reason, just so hell's a-poppin'.

It's a sickening thought, too...downright disgusting to think that
they're asking that we be lowered to the level of savage beasts. Do they
have any conception of the magnitude of this thing they're advocating? I
cant't believe they have.

For what have we to gain by mixing in all the bloodshed? Just name
it! I shan't let any fool preach to me that we've got nothing to lose,
and that we'd might just as well go to bat now, on behalf of democracy...
if mine ears hear rightly, that's the self-same song and dance dished up
previously.

A good, hard and heroic fight is often necessary (even though foolish);
I believe that as thoroughly as the next fellow, but I don't believe that
necessity exists at the present, no s'r! "Ask the man who owns one" has
long been an advertisement...just you ask the man who's had some !

-more-

ad*12

Ask the man who's been often in the trenches if he'd like to go back for more--or maybe send his son over for a full dose of it, now!

Ask one "shell-shock," or just one gas victim, for an opinion... then see if you don't agree that if there's any yard cleaning to be done we hadn't ought to start right in on our own back yard.

If Herr Hitler gets the stupid notion that he can set foot on American soil...if he entertains the slightest notion that we're a nation of goose-steppers...well, just let him try it. When he does, then I believe we should give him the business end of everything we've got; but not until then. Going over there hunting a fight just doesn't seem ethical.

In the midst of all the stupidity extant...there's one thing of which I'm certain, and the certainty of it sends a tingle of satisfaction way down to my toe-tips: When the necessity of meeting Hitler face to face presents itself, I believe you and I, giving him everything we've got, shoulder to shoulder, can kick the seat of his pants till their threads hang down and wipe out his tracks at a fast run!

-30-

Dear Editor:

Enclosed you will find one of my Brochures
of Poetry and trust that you may enjoy them.

Should you desire that you would like
to reprint any of them, you may do so.

May I have a copy of SOUTHERN REVIEW so
that I may study its requirements.

Thanking you in advance, I remain,

## INTRODUCTION

Readers will find, in the work of Helen Nakshian a note of courageous protest; a style reminiscent of Walt Whitman, and fine appreciation of vigorous words used in a poetic manner.

Fully cognizant of the value of imagery, images are often left incomplete, in hope that each reader will complete the picture, in his own individual way.

We feel sure that the reading public will see much of Miss Nakshian's work in the future.

- Loring Eugene Williams

Page 4

## THE LITTLE ROAD

THE Little Road
Beside my door

I learn to love
More and more.

Gypsy shod,
My eager feet
Walk the road
Where it may lead.

No pace is there
I can not keep
Nor sweetly slumber
In my sleep.

The Little Road
Leads on the way
To the bend
And far away.

## BUCKEYE LEAVES

Page 5

WE, THE PEOPLE!

WE, the people!
Rise like ruins of walls:
Stand in turmoil dust
Like jagged mountains out of waste.
We rise with long lost minds.
What have we done?
We rise from among low hills to shallow passes:
We rise from clusters of cottages
To castles in the air...
We rise with light streamers of dust;
We whirl in dust, wind and sun.
We rise with trains that toil up sheds.
And new strings of cars stir up the clouds.
Our country grows flatter, - desolate.
Again the ruins.
Rise and fall,
Rise again, We, the People!
What have we left?

CORNWALL ANTHOLOGY (Spring edition)

Page 8

MY SOUL

MY soul is a star
That soars high,
And it shall fly
Without a mar.
When time shall die,
I care not where my flesh shall lie,
For my soul shall fly
Back to the sky.
When night comes down,
And death shall crown,
My flesh shall die,
But my soul shall fly
Back to the sky.

AMERICAN POETRY MAGAZINE

Page 9

LABORMAN

RUGGED, grey, wrinkled,
Worn, rough and ill bred.

He was bent,
Broken with labor.

He was digging, digging,
Deeper down into the
Pit of the earth.

He was working fast -
Then slower, slower,
Until he bent down
With years of age,
Work, and of thought.

Work! WORK! WORK!

Digging! DIGGING!

He kept on
Bent until he drooped

Like a tree
Laden with fruit.

His breath grew vague;
And his heart

Page 12

Beat with less pace.

He had labored
His years away.
He was at rest.

PHASES

DEATH

TAKE my soul and let me die,
Oh never touch me

With your cold, clammy hands.

Leave me, I beg of you!

Life has nothing left for me.

Oh give me Death or Freedom of Death!

I feel your soiled cloak bind me
With unwanted warmness.

It chokes me! It stifles me!

Oh where is my GOD!

ECHOES

Page 13

GEORGE T. NESS, JR.
ATTORNEY AT LAW
633 EQUITABLE BUILDING,
BALTIMORE

September 10, 1941

Mr. J. E. Palmer,
Editor,
The SOUTHERN REVIEW,
University Station,
Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

Dear Mr. Palmer:

For quite some time I have been interested
in the Civil War and have written a few articles on some
of its many phases. I have recently been doing some work
on the graduates of West Point and became interested in
the rather large number who, although born in the North,
nevertheless served in the Confederate Army.

I enclose herewith an article entitled:

New England in the Confederacy - Her graduates in
the Southern Army -

which I submit for your consideration.

This story does not purport to cover all Northern West
Point men who so served, but only those born in Maine, Mass-
achusetts, Vermont and Rhode Island - fourteen in all. I
hope to do those of the other States later.

In case you would be interested in photographs, I
know of books in which four may be found. The names are
listed at the end of the article. I mention this because
a New Orleans newspaper used photographs of six Louisiana
West Point Confederates to good advantage in "Louisiana at
West Point."

I hope that the enclosed will meet with your approval
and thank you for your kindness in considering it for pub-
lication.

GTN:CP

2680 Hilgard Avenue,
Berkeley, California,

June 13, 1941.

Dear Mr. Warren :

This one - *Mr. Wimple's Love Story* - is different from others I have written and I hope my submitting it to you may not be impertinent. Perhaps it should be whittled down a bit...possibly the bit about the navel is in bad taste, but that about horses galloping backwards is from fact.

I enclose a return envelope.

I am told that sometimes you come out this way. If so, I would like to think that I might have the chance of meeting you.

With my regards,

<u>Mr. Robert Penn Warren.</u>

I sent you another story two or three months ago - *The White Horse*.

2680 Hilgard Avenue,
Berkeley, California,
July 16, 1941.

Dear Mr. Palmer :

I am sorry _The White Horse_ did not make the grade, but obliged to you for your letter upon it. Reading it over, it seemed to me that an added emphasis was needed at its end. This, I think, I have now contrived to bring about.

Should you wish to see it again - you suggest you may - please let me know.

In the last year I have submitted five stories to _The Southern Review_. All of them have been given consideration. Two of them have been "almosts". Perhaps the one you have on hand, the sixth, _Mr. Wimple's Love Story_, may have better luck - perhaps, for I am given more to doubt than hope.

<u>Mr.J.E.Palmer.</u>

2709 Hilgard Avenue,
Berkeley, California,
February 8, 1942.

Dear Mr. Warren :

It is sad news, indeed, that the Southern Review is to cease from
being published. One can only wonder ~~that~~ the University of
Louisiana should be so prodigal of its distinctions in dispensing
thus lightly with one which has carried its name so high to so
many places.

Perhaps those authorities may felent. Perhaps they have for the
moment forgotten that the Southern Review belongs not to a campus,
but to the wideness of the world.

Canada has been at war for two years and a half. Queen's University,
a small one by American standards, still publishes its quarterly, as
does the University of Toronto.

But against the going of the Southern Review, a clamour should be
made, bells rung and lanterns swung. People have come to look for it.
It has created and commands and is a new field of awareness on the
continent.

The New Republic says something about a petition. I hope the promise
becomes fact and bears result.

Mr. Robert Penn Warren.

12835 Evanston St.
West Los Angeles, Cal.

August 12, 1941

Mr. Cleanth Brooks, Jr.
The Southern Review
University Station
Baton Rouge, La.

Dear Mr. Brooks:

Thank you for your note of June 26th, which, as you know, reached me only at the end of last month. I am glad that you liked "Shooting Star", even though it may not have suited the needs of the Southern Review. Perhaps the enclosed story, "Yesterday", will do that better.

CENTRAL 7935.

1, PAPER BUILDINGS,
TEMPLE, E. C. 4.

9th December, 1940.

The Editor,
SOUTHERN REVIEW,
Louisiana State University,
LOUISIANA, La., U.S.A.

Dear Sir,

I have pleasure in sending you herewith
an essay: THE POETRY OF W.H.AUDEN, which I hope you
will consider suitable for publication in SOUTHERN
REVIEW.

I am sorry I have no American stamps for
return postage but I hope you will nevertheless be
able to let me know soon what you decide to do.

I read Southern Review every quarter and
consider it most valuable and would be more pleased
if my essay were accepted for it than for any other
American publication.

THE AGRICULTURAL AND MECHANICAL COLLEGE OF TEXAS

COLLEGE STATION

DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH

November 21, 1941

Mr. Robert Penn Warren
Department of English
Louisiana State University
Baton Rouge, Louisiana

Dear Mr. Warren:

In my travels on the Border last summer I came across America Paredes Monzano, a Mexican boy living in Brownsville, Texas. He knows more about Border life, music, and lore than any person I have come across. He has published one book of verse in Spanish and at present is preparing a book in English. His knowledge of the Border ballads so impressed me that I asked him to write an article on them.

Now that I have the article, I don't know what to do with it. I am sending you a copy with the hope that you may be able to use it in the *Southern Review* or that you may be able to suggest another outlet for it. It will probably need to be rewritten and pointed toward a particular magazine. My own feeling is that he should include more examples of the ballads themselves. I shall be grateful for any suggestions you have.

I am very sorry that we did not get to meet in Austin this summer. My work kept me out of town most of the time. Will you be coming this way again?

Will you tell Mrs. Warren that I did not receive a reply to my query to the Latin-American Committee on the folk music of Ecuador. They had written to me for a list of all the Mexican songs I had recorded.

Thank you for reading America's paper.

260-17th Street
Brooklyn, N.Y.

March 14, 1942

Southern Review
La. State Univ.,
Baton Rouge, La.

Dear Sir:

Enclosed you will find a few original poems which I would
like to submit. I trust that you will carefully examine them and
consider those that appeal to you for publication. I am sending
these to you, confident of the fact, that you will do all you can
to bring this about.

Hoping that my material meets with your approval and wait-
ing to hear from you soon, I remain

June 19, 1941.

Editor of the Southern Review,
University, La.

Dear Editor:

I enclose herewith a contribution entitled:

WHY MAN FIGHT WARS

which I offer for publication in:

the Southern Review.

EDWARD PODOLSKY, M. D.

2069 EAST 23rd ST.
BROOKLYN, N. Y.

Columbus Ohio

August 9 1941

The Southern Review
Baton Rouge
Louisiana

Dear Mr. Brooks:

I have your letter of the 8th. writing me that
you would like to see more of my work. I am en-
closing two stories for your examination.

Will-Of-The-Wisp, one of the two stories, was re-
cently returned from the Post with a comment on
how to meet present standards in the commercial
type of the modern short story. I think their sug-
gestions would ruin it.

The Man Who Insulted God is a story recently
finished and one I think of interest. A good bit
of my material has been worked out at the State
University here, and they tell me to stick with my
ideals on the development of the short story; and,
if possible, avoid the commercial stream-lined type.

I sincerely thank you for my opportunity, extended
by you, to submit my work to your magazine and for
your time in going over my manuscripts.

90 West Maynard Ave.

THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA
CHAPEL HILL

DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH

11 Cobb Terrace
Chapel Hill, N.C.
March 6, 1941

Professor Cleanth Brooks, Jr.
Mg. Ed., The Southern Review
Louisiana State University
University, Louisiana

Dear Professor Brooks,

The enclosed paper submitted to the editors of *The Southern Review* should perhaps be accompanied by an explanatory note concerning its background. I have been working since 1934 on satiric theory with the idea of writing a critical history of it. Much of it, the greater part, now stands in typescript.

One of the earliest apparent difficulties was my inability to find out anywhere, in standard editions, standard treatments of satire, or elsewhere, how a formal verse satire should be made. The theory which I have here outlined is thus the result of much reading and critical testing plus the synthesis of widely scattered available information.

I should make it clear that I have sent to *Philological Quarterly* a formal, documented account of that theory with accompanying lists of devices and conventions. That paper, however, will in all likelihood not be printed for a year or more. In any case, it is a heavily annotated research paper entirely different in character from the one here enclosed.

5

DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH

A student here suggested to me that it might be very useful if I were to state as simply as possible the theory of the form of the formal verse satire and then apply it critically to one or more satires. Since there is now a lively interest in Donne, I have examined the form of two of his *Satyres*.

I shall appreciate very much any
criticism you have to offer.

P.S. Would you by any chance be interested
in a paper on satiric catharsis?

Safety Harbor, Florida

29 January 1942

Dear Robert Penn Warren:

I do not believe you have ever seen the enclosed, for the reason it was in the hands of an agent who succeeded in doing nothing with it. But I nonetheless still consider it my best story. The verse may come at the wrong time for you, but here it is anyhow.

My mind keeps going back to your Thomas Hardy number from which I have not yet recovered although it's over two years, isn't it? In fact I doubt if one does ever quite get over Hardy. So that the stimulus I derived from your magnificent work served principally to awaken my old affection for him and send me back to re-read _Jude_ and the _Satires_. My only criticism would be that the critics of what I call the Blackmur school need, some of them, to thoroughly prune their vocabulary. I read them so to speak with a blue pencil, but even so I enjoy them. I hope my remarks on so distant a topic do not tire you, but for me it is still immediate and that must be the excuse of

P. O. Box 202
Portland, Oregon

January 19, 1942

Attention: C. W. Pipkin, Editor

Gentlemen:

On or about October 27, 1941, a group of poems was sent to you for your perusal by Frederick W. Reid, who was at that time, I believe, stationed at Camp San Luis Obispo, California. Since then there have been many changes of address for him and in all likelihood there will continue to be such changes in the future.

Therefore, Mr. Reid requests that if you have not already answered upon receipt of this letter, you address any communications to him care of Leslie Grueger, P. O. Box 202, Portland, Oregon, and for your convenience in doing so I am enclosing sticker with this new address.

Thank you very much for your kindness in this matter.

Encl.

September 15, 1941
2370 Second Street,
Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio

Mr. J.E.Palmer
Ed. SOUTHERN REVIEW
Louisiana State University,
Baton Rouge, La.

Dear Sir;

Enclosed are two poems which I am submitting for
publication. If they are not suitable, I would appreciate
any comment or criticism you care to make.

I attend Kent State University where I will be a
Junior this Fall. Several of us are very much interested
in starting a worthwhile magazine at the University, so
please send me the following details:

1- Where may I obtain a copy of your publication?

2- How much is it?

3- What are approximate expenses in publishing such a magazine?

Also, what type of poetry do you prefer? BEAT OF WINGS editor, Alice Bellis, suggested your magazine, but could not furnish all the details.

General Delivery
Cathedral City, Riverside County
California

January 2 1942

To the Editor

Southern Review

Louisiana State University

Baton Rouge, La.

Dear Sir:

I am a young woman of eighteen, and have for the past few years admired very much the stories from the Southern Review which have been reprinted in O'Brien. The enclosed manuscript is a short story taken from a long novel I have just completed, and which I am now engaged in typing into final draft. Mr. Samuel Sloan, of Duell, Sloan and Pierce of New York City, who has seen some of my work, has been generous enough to ask me to submit my long novel to him as soon as it is ready.

I have been living in the Palm Springs desert here for the past five winters, and have set my novel in this environment. It is the story of a socially prominent family and the series of events which bring about its dissolution. The story centers about the love between one of the daughters and a brilliant young orthopedic surgeon. It is over 150,000 words long. I hope you will like the enclosed story. Christine is the main character and David is the doctor whose love she must not have, since he is married to a chronic invalid.

5/17/42
unread

<table><tr><td>BUY UY</td></tr><tr><td>DEFENSE SAVINGS</td></tr><tr><td>BONDS AND STAMPS</td></tr></table>

The Editors
Southern Review
University
Louisiana

CIRCLE 6-3885

JULES ROTHMAN

BOOK CRITIC AND AUTHOR
125 EAST 4TH STREET
NEW YORK

October 20, 1941

Editor, The Southern Review,
University of Louisiana,
Baton Rouge, La.

Dear Sir:

Would you be interested in a twelve thousand
word article tracing the development of the Nietzschean
concept of the Superman in American literature coincidental
with the great industrial expansion in the United States
at the beginning of the present century, as it is expressed
in the works of the leading writers such as Frank Norris,
Jack London and, later, Thomas Wolfe? Such an article would
have contemporary interest in view of the existing tendencies
not only in international politics, but everywhere.

Editor,

The Southern Review
Baton Rouge,
Louisiana.

My Dear Sir:---

Enclosed is a born Southerner's
critique upon a current nation-wide craze which seems
even to have percolated to the _Vieux Carré_.

Why, no man knows.

The author of it is down abed with
a broken vertebra as the result of a foxhunting spill;
lies deeper abed and dead to the world as the result of
what his N'Yawleans mammy calls "ammony." He talks of a
"Peter Carmichael", who seems to have been---and perhaps
still is------a sociologist at the University of Louisiana.
He also talks of the Baltimore _Sun_, the Naval Academy at
Annapolis, and a dinner upon the roof at the Southern Hotel,
wherever that may be. I beg of you to refer this communication
to Mr. Carmichael, if he still remains in residence at the
University. And he also speaks of a grandfather who allegedly
lies buried in a place called Sugartown, Calcasieu Parish, in
Louisiana.

The gentleman's economics are nebulous. But he
shall be taken care of.

2.

All we can be concerned with here are the merits
of the enclosed. If it is not "available", as his
editors have a way of saying, then of course reject it without
qualm.

He asks me to tell you that sympathy has no place in
the world of business or intellect. And less place in "the
current phase of the turgid economic tale."

Trusting that we have not inconvenienced or annoyed you
by asking you to peruse an almost unforgiveably personal letter,
I beg leave to remain,

J. Weems

for
Mr. Charles Sampson

Penn's Park,
Bucks county,
Pennsylvania.

NEW MEXICO STATE COLLEGE
OF AGRICULTURE AND MECHANIC ARTS
STATE COLLEGE, NEW MEXICO

May 22, 1941

DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH

Dear Professor Warren:

I'm inclosing two stories that I'd like for you to consider for publication in the *Southern Review*.

The editors of the Southwest *Review* liked "But Few Are Chosen" better than a story of mine they published, but they thought they'd "better not use it, because some good Methodist minister might take it amiss."

I thought perhaps you wouldn't have the same handi-cap.

Fred Shaw

UNITED STATES COAST GUARD ACADEMY

NEW LONDON, CONNECTICUT

December 8, 1941

Mr.J.E.Palmer
The Southern Review
University, Louisiana

Dear Mr. Palmer,

I have been working for a good many years on a new theory of art, and I have finished to my satisfaction the preliminary survey and statement. So I am sending it along to you and would like to hear your opinion on it. Through an accident, after this last typing, I have to send you the carbon copy.

The paper suggests the first outline of a hypothesis which presents the psychological mechanism of compensation as the most potent factor influencing forms of artistic production, including various systems of philosophy as well as literature and plastic art. An auxiliary hypothesis holds that when this element of compensation is most apparent as an operative factor, the artist is generally concerned---in the content and meaning of his works---with problems of time and change.

I have long felt that compensation is a motivation which leads to such phenomena as the division between "appearance and reality", as well as representations of the ideal over against actualities of fact. It is a defense mechanism which enables an individual or society to feel justified, and hence assists maintaining a healthy, balanced state of mind under suffering. It is a motivation which counteracts the effects of individual or social "failure of nerve".

First, I have written of Proust, finding in his life and work reason for an initial formulation of a theory of compensation. I have deliberately interpreted Proust from this single perspective, and since I have made use of Alfred Adler's views on compensation as an element in the psyche's structure, it is right to call this the Adlerian perspective applied to Proust. Adler, himself, helped me with some of the details when I worked with him in New York City, the spring before his death.

There follows an attempt to state academically and explore briefly the character and quality of my theory of artistic creation by pointing out its relation to various philosophic considerations. I have pursued certain ideas of Plato and of Bergson, reinterpreting their views on Being and Becoming in the light of this process of compensation.

NEW LONDON, CONNECTICUT

2.2

As footnotes, or at the end of the article, I have included several
notes on miscellaneous themes taken from the fields of art and criticism
to illustrate further how the concept of compensation may be extended as
a general frame of reference for criticism. The first and longest of these
notes on various meanings attached to the term "Greek" through history is
an attempt to point out how in each case this term functioned to suggest
a compensatory ideal.

I would appreciate it if you would read this and offer comment for
its possible publication in the Southern Review.

April 5, 1941

3586 Pennsylvania Ave.
Indiana Harbor, Ind.

Dear Mr. Warren and Mr. Brooks:

These are the stories I mentioned
when I sent along the other envelope.
There is another industrial story in
this group, and, by now, you can guess
the sort of work I left, and came back
to. "The man in Shorty's" was written
about two years ago, from the memories
of some of the things I'd seen, and
from some of the things I'd heard when
our mill was involved in a strike war.

As to the other stories—I have little
to say about them, and, I believe, they
have little to say for themselves.
"Everything quite, quite dead," is a sex
story, and sentimental. In fact, all of
these three short pieces are sentimental.
None of these stories are very recent,
nor have they, I'm sure, been sent out
before.

1/15/42