ruling principle, not inert, but turning topsy-turvy the understanding and inducing a confused state of mind." No educational device has yet been invented by which sweetness and light may be extracted from this confused state of mind.

THE CONVENTION OF BOOKS

NCE upon a time there was an Old Libra<

ON

rian who, attending a convention of his profession, closed his eyes. This was not because the papers were uninteresting; nor was it because they were not important if true, for they were both important and true. But the papers were many and the librarian was no longer young; therefore he closed his eyes that he might more easily follow the thought. So he followed the thought until he was out of hearing of the somewhat too even voice of the gentleman who was reading.

Suddenly he found himself in a convention of books. Now, the librarian had always loved books, and had cared for their safety, and had planned to extend their usefulness. But in the country to which he had been transported the conditions are reversed. The books assume responsibility for the care of their readers, and arrange them in order and decide upon their merits. For the books in

their own country set great store by their readers. When a book misplaces its readers, or loses them, it is looked upon as unskillful. It is no small achievement for a book to look after a large collection of miscellaneous readers, and to select those that are valuable.

When the Old Librarian arrived, the convention hall was almost full. There were books of all sizes and ages, all engaged in animated conversation. There were venerable folios, grave middle-aged quartos, flashy young duodecimos. Blue-blooded classics were elbowed by pushing "best sellers." Shabby odd volumes shambled about, looking for members of their family circle from whom they had been separated for years. Now and then a superannuated text-book, lean and haggard, would ask for information from a pert young fellow who had once been his pupil. A slight willowy poem would trip along with a look of vague inquiry in her innocent eyes, as if she were seeking some one who would tell her what she was all about. She would draw her dainty singing robes around her to avoid the touch of some horny-handed son of prose with the dust of the Census Bureau yet upon him. There were

grave, learned books who were spoken of with bated breath as "Authorities"; and there were

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Original Sources," aristocrats of long lineage, who still clung to the antique garb of their youth.

There were few in the company who ventured upon any familiarity with these worthies. It was however whispered by an enterprising Thesis, who had made their acquaintance, that some of them, in their own day and generation, had been rather

common.

Near the doors were groups of half-grown pamphlets who had not yet reached the dignity of full book-hood. They formed a disturbing element, and it was a question whether they should be admitted to the floor, it being very difficult to keep these unbound hobbledehoys in order.

The Old Librarian was not one of those indefatigable persons who can sit through all the meetings furnished by conscientious programmemakers. He was glad that so many papers were provided at all hours, but there was a touch of altruism in his nature, so that he rejoiced in the thought of the information which the minds of others received while his own lay fallow. After the

convention had been opened, he wandered in a leisurely way from one section to another, listening to such of the discussions as interested him, and observing how the books conducted their business.

There was much wrangling over the report of the Committee on Credentials, as there was a great difference of opinion as to what constitutes a book. It is an old controversy between the strict constructionists and those of more democratic tendencies. In this case the strict constructionists were outvoted, and the Old Librarian noticed a number of volumes taking part in the proceedings, to whom he would not have given the privileges of the floor.

There was one general subject for discussion, "The Care of Readers,” but each section considered its own questions of technique. Never had the Old Librarian been so impressed with the sense of the importance of readers. The president in his opening address declared that the reader could no longer be treated as a negligible quantity. Readers might be said to be almost essential to the existence of books. It was a great satisfaction to the Old Librarian to hear this, for he had often