Three magazines on the Square stands indicate that the phrase-makers and word-turners have had a busy academic term. The magazines are Audience, The Editor and Identity, and all contain the work of men who subscribe to the ideals and conventions of the University.

Now some cynics among us might lead themselves to the conclusion that once again they invite self-sacrifice by the purchase of such periodicals. Today this is not so, and I report with pleasure that the wounded soul of adolescent concern has expired, its pimpled face stiffened in silence, its deep and brooding eyes closed in exhaustion, its restless shell retired to the Hayes-Bickford corner it deserves so well.

Audience, which is the oldest of the three, is also the fattest. It seems a bit middle-aged, and the people who write it give the impression they use their talent to dabble. Certainly most of its 127 pages are cheerful; some readers may find it even innocuous here and there. But it seldom it ever offends.

Because it is so fat and not-very-explosive, Audience is difficult to divide fairly into its many parts. A reader must pick out what soothes or jostles his prejudice, which in reading Audience is his whim. I liked best a story about the aforementioned blueberries, suitably titled "The Blueberries," written by Bankson Means; another story, "A Tom Go For Terry," by Robert Wernick; a poem called "Birthday Letter," by Allen Grossman; another poem, "Suicide," by Arthur Freeman; and some drawings of some sad old houses by Janet Doub. The magazine costs six bits and that means that each of these things cost 15 cents but are worth a good deal more.

The blueberries lie in a patch of ground belonging to some city people. Two resourceful farmers, who like blueberries quite a bit, become rivals for the patch and expend considerable effort in attempts to acquire the blueberries. Means writes with economy in this piece, and he never lets his smooth style get away from him. It's funny. Wernick's story also is amusing, perhaps extraneous at times, but on the whole a dryly wise comment on how life she is lived in the U.S.A., where we learn love is a faith and marriage a chapel. "Birthday Letter" finds Allen Grossman, who teaches at Brandeis, composing in the night; he speaks in pain and hope, honestly. Freeman's "Suicide" is quick, light, ironic and like most of his stuff is very comprehensible. The four Doub drawings reveal that houses, too, have faces that contort in time. Perhaps they are so sad they are funny.

The Editor, in its second issue, essays again in an editorial to tie life, art and eternity all together in a nice brown ribbon. If a reader can bring his gaseous juices under control after pondering the editorial ("We think that the few selections between these covers have the passion of youth, mixed also with a complexity of concern."), he will find a fine, if editable, story by David Farquhar, a rather sensational reappearance of Piero Heliczer in "Unpoem Number One," and a couple of West Indian sketches by Keith Lowe.

Both Farquhar and Lowe show they write because they have nothing better to do--it's not idle. Farquhar's "The Stage of the Year" stumbles over words sometimes, but his dialogue is terse, his frenzied story about the purposeless destruction of a dog very real. Lowe's strength depends more on what he knows about people and customs in Jamaica, whom and which he treats softly and without awe in a swift telling. Heliczer's piece proves that irreverence and irrelevance sometime mean the same thing, and is in his usual adroit good humor.

Identity happily has fulfilled its promise to publish College poets. The level of the poetry far exceeds that of the last issue, and includes three runners you normally find in The Advocate's stable. Editor James Manchester Robinson hasn't shortened his name by a syllable; but his judgment, or perhaps the material on hand, leapt far and handsomely (if you neglect his continued pre-occupation with poetry as a graphic device, so garishly splashed across the center-fold). Sandy Kaye, Arthur Freeman and Stephen Sandy contribute good stuff.