An "impossible" ideal, of course, but far from intimidating, the largeness of the task makes us all the more determined.
This paper attempts no suggestion of new methods of attacking the problem. It is rather a restatement of an old perplexity. I harp once more on a worn theme because I think that unless we frequently lift our eyes from the day's absorbing duties for a look over the whole field, and unless we once and again make searching inventory of our convictions, our purposes, our methods, our attainments, we are in danger of letting ourselves slip along the groove of the taken-for-granted and our work loses in power as we allow ourselves to become leaners instead of leaders. May we not, as if it were a new idea, rouse to the seriousness of the mediocre habit indulged in by young people capable of better things? Should not our work with children reach out more to work with adults, to those who buy and sell and make books for the young? Is it not time for the successful teller of stories to children to use her gifts in audiences of grown people, persuading these molders of the children's future of the reasonableness of our objection to the third rate since it is the enemy of the best? May it not be politic, at least, for the librarian to descend from her disdainful height and make friends with "the trade," with bookseller and publisher who, after all, have as good a right to their bread and butter as the librarian paid out of the city's taxes?
And then—is it not possible that we might be better librarians if we refused to be librarians every hour in the day and half the night as well? What if we were to have the courage to refuse to indulge in nervous breakdowns, because we deliberately plan to play, and to eat, and to sleep, to keep serene and sane and human, believing that God in His Heaven gives His children a world of beauty to enjoy as well as a work to do with zeal. If we lived a little longer and not quite so wide, the gain to our chosen work in calm nerves and breadth of interest and sympathy would even up for dropping work on schedule time for a symphony concert or a country walk or a visit with a friend—might even justify saving the cost of several A. L. A. conferences toward a trip to Italy!
This hurling at librarians advice to play more and work less reminds me of a story told by a southern friend. Years ago, in a sleepy little Virginia village, there lived two characters familiar to the townspeople, whose greatest daily excitement was a stroll down to the railroad station to watch the noon express rush through to distant southern cities. One of these personages was the station keeper, of dry humor and sententious habit, whom we will call Hen Waters; the other was the station goat, named, of course, Billy. Year after year had Billy peacefully cropped the grass along the railroad tracks, turning an indifferent ear to the roar of the daily express, when suddenly one day the notion seemed to strike his goatish mind that this racket had been quietly endured long enough. With the warning whistle of the approaching engine, Billy, lowering his head, darted furiously up the track, intending to butt the offending thunderer into Kingdom Come. When, a few seconds later, the amazed spectators were gazing after the diminishing train, Hen Waters, addressing the spot where the redoubtable goat had last been seen, drawled out: "Billy, I admire your pluck—but darn your discretion!"
The parallel between the ambitions and the futility of the goat, and the present speaker's late advice is so obvious that only the illogicalness of woman can account for my cherishing a hope that I may be spared the fate of the indiscreet Billy.
Miss CAROLINE BURNITE, director of children's work, Cleveland public library, delivered the second paper on this subject, presenting the topic from another viewpoint.
VALUES IN LIBRARY WORK WITH CHILDREN—II
To elucidate principles of value, I shall use, by way of illustration, the experience and structure of a certain children's department where the problem of children's reading and the means of bringing books to them has been more intensively studied in the last nine years than was possible there before that time. At the time we took our last survey of the department it was found that probably about six out of ten of the children of the city read library books in their homes during the calendar year, and that each child had read about twenty books on the average. Four of the six procured library books from a library center; two of the six procured them from collections, either in their schoolrooms or in homes in their neighborhood. In all, fifty-four thousand children read a million books, which reached them through forty-three librarians assigned for special work with these children, through three hundred teachers and about one hundred volunteers. Now, we know that six out of ten children is not an ideal proportion and that fifty-four thousand may endanger the quality of book influence for each child, but both of these statements indicate conditions to be adjusted so that the experience of each reading child may contribute to the whole and experience with numbers may benefit the individual. To accomplish this end, work with the children was given departmental organization. My concern in this paper is with departmental organization as it benefits the reading child, and with the principles and policies which have been developed through departmental unity.
We think ordinarily that one who loves books has three general hallmarks—his reading is fairly continuous, there is permanency of book interest, and this interest maintained on a plane of merit. These three results always justify the reader and those who have influenced him, and if the consequent book interests of the library child were entirely such, they would prove to all laymen, without argument, that the principles are basic. But in the child's contact with the library there are many evidences of modifications of normal book interests; for, instead of continuity of reading, the children's rooms are overcrowded in winter and have comparatively small book use in summer; instead of permanency of book interests extending over the difficult intermediate period, we know that large numbers of those children who leave school before they reach high school have little or no library contact during their first working years and we sometimes feel that the interesting experiences with reading working children, which librarians are prone to emphasize, give us an impression of a larger number than careful investigation would show. As for quality of reading of the individual working child we cannot maintain that it is always on a high plane.
All these conditions we know to be largely the result of environmental influences. Deprived for twelve hours a day, twelve months in a year, of opportunity for normal youthful activities, the child's entire physical and mental schedule is thrown out of balance and his tendency is to turn to reading, a recreation possible at any time, only when there is no opportunity to follow other avenues of interest. The strain upon the ear and eye, and back and brain, is even greater in the shop than in the school, and in the consequent intense physical fatigue the tendency is toward recreations in which the book may have no place. The power of the nickel library over the child can be broken by the presence of the public library, but no intermediate gets away from the suggestion, by voice and print, of the modern novel, with its present-day social interests. Consequently the whole judgment of the results of library work with children can not rest upon these general tests of normal book interests. Rather such variations from the normal are themselves conditions which influence the structure of the work and especially the principles of book presentation. If children are living in an environment which is not the best one for them, all the forces with which they come in contact should tend to correct the abnormal and give them the things their moral nature craves—freer and fuller thoughts, better and freer living, truth of expression, beauty of feeling. We must recognize that books also must be a force in reconstructing or normalizing the influences of their environment. Children with social needs must have books with social values to meet those needs—right social contacts, true social perspective, traditions of family and race, loveliness of nature, companionship of living things, right group association and group interests.