Carlyle says, "Not what I have, but what I do, is my kingdom," and I take that to mean in library work that my opportunity is not what I could do if I held some other position in some other library, but what I can do under present conditions with present means. Success does not lie with those who continually wish for something they haven't got, but with those who do the best possible thing with the things they have. "It is not so much the ship as the skilful sailing that assures a prosperous voyage." It is not so much a great collection of books and a fine technical organization as the personal character of the man or woman who stands as a bridge between the books and the people. Your opportunity and mine does not lie in our circumstances, but in ourselves, and in our ability to see and to grasp the coveted opportunity. We are reminded of the pious darkey who prayed every night just before Christmas, "Dear Lord, send dis darkey a turkey." Christmas came dangerously near, and there was no prospect of a turkey. So the night before Christmas he grew desperate, and prayed, "Dear Lord, send dis darkey to a turkey." That night the turkey came. Even so it is with our opportunities.
There are three classes of people toward whom the library has a special mission: the children, the foreigner, and the working classes.
1. As to the children, we have been hearing considerably about them in this conference. Mr. Hutchins in the Wisconsin meeting said that a good book did more good in a country boy's home than in the city boy's. When the country boy takes a book home he and all his family devour it, but the town boy reads his book and exchanges it, and no one in the house perhaps even knows that he has read it. Well, that is a subject for thought. If his family or teachers do not watch his reading, it becomes a serious thing for the librarian who chooses and buys his books for him. Perhaps the library is not large enough to have a children's department or to send books into the schools, or to do any specialized children's work, but it can make judicious selection of books, and being small can know individual cases among the children. It is not so hard to find out the children one by one who need some care and interest, to learn their names and to find out something about their families. They say that letters cut lightly in the bark of a sapling show even more plainly in the grown tree. A boy whom no one has reached comes into your library. By a little watchful care he reads some wonderful life, learns some of the marvellous forces in God's creation, opens his eyes to the glowing sunsets or to the springing blades of grass; suddenly knows the dignity of human nature and his own growing self. His aspirations are born, his ambition is awakened, his life is changed. Library records have not one, but many such cases.
The home library is a method of reaching children which is not used enough by the smaller libraries. Branches and stations may not be practicable, but a group of 15 to 25 books taken into sections of a town by some friendly woman, on the plan of the home libraries, could be carried out in almost any town. The librarian might not have time, but she could find people who would do it, if she set the work to going.
2. As to the foreigners, Europe has used us for a dumping ground for considerable moral and political refuse. We have the problem of making good citizens out of much wretched material, and next to the children there is no greater opportunity for the library. Even the smallest library ought to study ways and means of getting at the foreign element. It would almost pay to make a canvass of the town, to see that these people are reached and that they know about the library. If books in their own language are necessary to draw them, then it is the best investment you can make.
3. But in reality the library does its great work among the mass of common working people. It is the quiet side which makes no showing, but it has always been the telling side. From the common people spring most of our readers. They do our work, they fight our battles, they need our inspiration. For them you make your libraries attractive, for them you make careful selections of books—the student does not need your pains—for their sake you identify yourself with every local interest. You fix your hours for opening and closing to accommodate these working people. You make your rules and regulations just as elastic as possible, that they may not be debarred from any privilege. They do not ask favors, but after all this great mass of common people whose lives are more or less barren and empty are the ones to which the library caters in a quiet, unadvertised way. It is the great opportunity which we scarcely think of as an opportunity at all. It is just the daily routine. Millions of people know little more than a mechanical life, what they shall eat, drink and wear. Many can touch their horizons all around with a sweep of their hands, so narrow is their circle. They live in the basements of their spiritual temples, and never rise to the level of their best ability. They have no joy of life, of abundant life. The library performs a great service to society when it has furnished information to the people, when it has been an educational factor, but it has performed a greater one when it has awakened a man and put him into possession of his own powers.
Well, this is not a very specific setting forth of the ways in which we can extend the work of a small library. The way must vary greatly with the conditions, but the spirit of the work runs through all conditions. If I should name the qualifications of a good librarian, I would give them in the following order, according to importance:
1. Genuine character, with broad natural sympathies.
2. Courteous, kindly manners.
3. Education, general and technical.