THE USE OF THE LIBRARY.
In my garden I spend my days, in my library I spend my nights.
My interests are divided between my geraniums and my books.
With the flowers I am in the present; with the books I am in
the past. I go into my library and all history unrolls before
me. I breathe the morning air of the world while the scent of
Eden’s roses yet lingered in it, while it vibrated only to the
world’s first brood of nightingales and to the laugh of Eve.
I see the pyramids building; I hear the shoutings of the
armies of Alexander; I feel the ground shake beneath the march
of Cambyses. I sit as in a theatre; the stage is Time, the
play is the World. What a spectacle it is! What kingly pomp,
what processions, file past; what cities burn to heaven,
what crowds of captives are carried at the chariot wheels of
conquerors! I hear or cry, “Bravo!” when the great actors
come on, shaking the stage. I am a Roman emperor when I look
at a Roman coin. I lift old Homer, and I shout Achilles in
the trenches. The silence of the empeopled Syrian plains, the
outcomings and ingoings of the patriarchs, Abraham and Ishmael,
Isaac in the fields at eventide, Rebekah at the well, Jacob’s
guile, Esau’s face reddened by the desert sunheat, Joseph’s
splendid funeral procession—all these things I find within the
boards of my Old Testament.
What a silence in those old books, as of a half-peopled world;
what bleating of flocks, what green pastoral rest, what
indubitable human existence! Across brawling centuries of blood
and war I hear the bleating of Abraham’s flocks, the tinkling
of the bells of Rebekah’s camels.
Oh, men and women, so far separated yet so near, so strange
yet so well known, by what miraculous power do I know you
all? Books are the true Elysian fields where the spirits of
the dead converse, and into these fields a mortal may venture
unappalled. What king’s court can boast such company? What
school of philosophy such wisdom?
There is Pan’s pipe; there are the songs of Apollo. Seated in
my library at night, and looking on the silent faces of my
books, I am occasionally visited by a strange sense of the
supernatural. They are not collections of printed pages; they
are ghosts. I take one down, and it speaks with me in a tongue
not now heard on earth, and of men and things of which it alone
possesses the knowledge.
I call myself a solitary, but sometimes I think I misapply
the term. No man sees more company than I do. I travel with
mightier cohorts around me than ever did Timour or Genghis Khan
on their fiery marches. I am a sovereign in my library; but it
is the dead, not the living, that attend my levees.
—ALEXANDER SMITH.
The Free Public Library is often termed the People’s College. It is
established by communities that believe education to be the foundation of
civic freedom as well as an element in human happiness. By taxation of
the people these treasures of books are made free to all: the richest and
the poorest alike. Here one’s scanty library is reënforced by full and
rare collections, and the entire care of the custodians is to make this
treasure-house useful to all comers.
But the reports of the librarians, encouraging though they be, do not
describe a state of general reading. A study of these reports will reveal
the fact that only a small part of the ought-to-be reading public finds
its way to the library and uses this marvellous opportunity.
If we question why the readers are so few, we shall doubtless arrive at
certain conclusions. Aside from the duties and necessities which debar
many would-be readers from using the library, we shall conclude that the
majority of persons not illiterate who fail to avail themselves of this
opportunity have not learned to love books; while many others who have
had considerable reading in school or at home have not learned how to
make the stores of the library available.
Enough has been said, perhaps, regarding the necessity of teaching
children to love books, to the end that they may have wholesome interests
and simple and natural pleasures. Books reveal the experience of others,
and yield to us the companionship of the wise and good. Sympathetic
observation of the lives of boys and girls who have not been trained to
this larger interest would drive us to renewed endeavors to open wide the
doors to them, out of and away from the temptations which allure them to
lower loves. The life that does not know how to find pleasure in a book,
that turns to the saloon rather than to the library, is sad indeed. We
cannot urge too strongly the early and continual teaching whose object is
to make the children book-lovers.
But, if the young book-lover appears at the library door and fails to
find the clue to the labyrinth where the words which he desires may
be found, he may wander away again, never to return. If his love is
strong, and the custodian learns his need, he may study his way into the
desired paths; but it is evident to all readers that the library is most
available to the best prepared, and that the vast treasures of even the
free library are worthless to the ignorant. Further, we can but recognize
that home reading and school reading do not always qualify the reader for
study in a library. He must be taught how to use it, and somebody must
teach him.
Home and school must supply this need. The wise father and mother will
go with the children to the library, and there teach them to use books;
while in school, the teacher of reading will aim beyond the simple
mastery of the text-book. No longer can she content herself with guiding
her pupils through the Fifth Reader from page 1 to page 256. With her
larger conception of reading, she knows now that her pupils must be
taught to unlock other books, and she sets herself to teach them how to
do this.
But _how_?—a practical question. This chapter would avail little did it
fail to attempt an answer.
First, by including in her teaching such lessons as will show the use
of books as tools. The student who hunts down a subject in the library
looks through myriads of books, but he does not read them all. He learns
first what books are likely to answer his question. All other books he
excludes from his list. He learns further where to look for aid in his
selected books, and turns at once to the helpful pages, excluding all
others. So he reaches the chapter, the page, the line which contains the
desired message, and achieves his end. The untrained worker loses himself
in the labyrinth of books, and finds nothing.
Such ability to use books is not a gift; it is earned by thoughtful
practice. The power to use reference books comes only through wisely
using them. The art begins with the use of the dictionary and the
supplementary reader, and here should the teacher first apply herself to
teach the use of books of reference.
First, as to the dictionary. All grammar-school classes should be
supplied with a good unabridged dictionary, while every pupil should
have access to a smaller one, and be taught to use it so constantly that
he will consider it an equal necessity with his pocket-knife. Where
children buy their own books, the possession of the dictionary should be
urged. Ownership is equally desirable where books are supplied by the
city or town. Nothing can take the place of it. The dictionary is the
student’s commonest tool.
Having dictionaries, the children should be taught to use them. Here they
are. What are they? What do they contain? What are they good for? Of what
use can they be to you?
A study of the book reveals to us that the dictionary tells us the
meaning of unfamiliar words; it may therefore help to explain to us
what we read. Or it gives us many meanings of words, in their various
uses, thus helping us to choose the fitting one. Again, it shows us
the correct spelling and pronunciation of the words which we need to
use in reading or speaking; while in our later study it reveals to us
the grammatical uses of words, giving good authority for each use, and
further explains the derivation or tells the history of the word.
Before leaving the grammar school, children should be able to gather all
this help from the dictionary. In the lower grades—fourth and fifth—the
lessons will be confined to the study of the dictionary as a means of
learning the meaning, spelling, and correct pronunciation of the selected
words.
The first step is a study of the arrangement of the book: the title,
introduction, preface, keys to pronunciation, rules for spelling; then
the lists of words, arranged in alphabetical order. What does that mean?
Who knows the meaning of the order of the letters of the alphabet? Test
the class to discover this. Often the first lack appears here. By rapid
recitation both forward and backward, and varied questions, make this
knowledge available here. “Does S come before or after M, U, G, Q, W? In
which half of the alphabet shall I find N, L, F, T? etc. I am turning the
leaves of the dictionary to find the word ‘Travel.’ I open to a page of
words beginning with M. Shall I turn forward or backward?” By such tests
oft repeated, dictionary in hand, the children accustom themselves to
the alphabetical order. Do not forget that it must be taught. It is not
discovered by intuition.
After tracing the word to its letter, it remains to be found upon the
page—a more difficult study of alphabetical arrangement. The child who
attempts to find the word “Travel” finds the Ta’s, but, with his limited
knowledge, stays to rest his eyes upon Table, Tack, Tall, Tank, etc.,
in his likely-to-be-vain search. Now he must study with his teacher the
fuller detail of alphabetical order. The word to be found begins with Tr.
Let him leave Ta, Te, Ti to find Tr, and then must he follow on with his
finger to Trav; and now slowly through this column to the appointed word.
The order being thus made clear, a double practice should be given, to
fix it in his mind: first, finding chosen words in the dictionary in the
quickest possible time; second, making lists of words in alphabetical
order.
These lessons may seem superfluously simple and mechanical, but it is due
to the omission of such teaching that so many hours are wasted in the
blind search after the contents of books, and that so many dictionaries
are fresh-edged, unused.
Thus far the pupil has simply found the way to his word. Now he must
learn to read what the dictionary tells him about it. Here further
knowledge is required.
He finds the word so divided and marked as to enable him to pronounce it
correctly, if he knows enough. But first he must know how to pronounce
the syllables into which it is divided, and to translate the marks used
for his benefit. Syllabification and diacritical marks constitute the
subject of the next series of lessons.
The first is not so minor a matter as it may seem at first sight.
Proper division into syllables is necessary to proper pronunciation
of syllables, and a correct naming of the consecutive syllables means
correct pronunciation of the word. The children’s trick, which often
confounds the scholar, proves this. “Pronounce ba-cka-che,” they demand,
dictating the syllables as written. After sufficiently enjoying the
scholar’s discomfiture, they pronounce the common word, backache. It
is no more than fair to give him a taste of their daily vicissitudes.
All teachers know how children are daily lost in the mazes of
syllabification. It would be well to avert this evil, and lead to a more
helpful reading of the dictionary, by giving lessons whose object is the
mastery of syllables. Separating familiar words into their syllables and
pronouncing by syllable at sight are excellent exercises, and they may
well displace some of the formal and mechanical study of never-to-be-used
lists of words.
Many words are mastered for all time as soon as the art of
syllabification is learned. For others there remains, however, the need
of the diacritical marks.
As teachers know (but as children seldom discover), those marks exist
simply as aids to pronunciation. They vary, in different dictionaries.
It is, therefore, necessary that children should study the key to
pronunciation in the dictionary which they use. As an aid to their
memories, an epitome of this key is printed at the bottom of every page,
that he who runs may read. If the mark is not recognized, a glance shows
them the value of the same marked vowel in a familiar word. The sound of
the unfamiliar word is made plain to them if they have learned to read
the dictionary. Drill in pronouncing columns of the words found in the
dictionary, is an aid to the rapid acquirement of power to translate
these equivalents, while, until this power is won, the pupil may be
helped by marking familiar words in accordance with the key.
The mastery of the alphabetical arrangement and syllabification and
pronunciation being assured, there remains the study of the grouped
meanings and the derivation, with attention to grammatical use. As soon
as the pupil knows the parts of speech, the various uses of words are
made plain to him, and he intelligently follows the dictionary column
which exhibits a word as noun, verb, adjective, or adverb. If his object
is to discover the verb meaning, he passes the others. If the earlier and
perhaps obsolete meanings do not apply, he reads on until the fitting
definition is reached. If the definition itself is not plain to him, he
“looks up” the unfamiliar words contained in it. But he keeps at work
until he has made himself master of the word for whose meaning he sought.
Quotations showing standard use are read and considered. The paragraph
or sentence containing the new word is re-read, illumined by the new
meaning.
Such a lesson has in it the virtue of a language lesson. The new word,
with its precious cargo, has become the child’s possession, and he can
send it voyaging to ports he desires to reach with his thought. Further,
through such exercises, he learns to master books.
The more mature student will carefully con the root-meaning, and follow
the word through its devious history. That work, in its detail, must wait
for the higher grades and the college. But with such thoroughness as has
been outlined, the grammar grade pupil may make the dictionary his strong
ally and unfailing friend. It behooves us to teach him the art.
Books of reference should be made available to the pupils, as is
the dictionary, by lessons which show their use. The Atlas, the
Cyclopedia, the Compendium, should be explained, and opportunities for
their use should be created. So all minor books—grammars, histories,
geographies—should be consulted by the children, and compared with their
own. In such consultation the index or table of contents should serve its
purpose. The pupil should not be allowed to search the book from cover to
cover for his bit of information, but should be taught to look for it, by
the help of the index, in its proper place, just as he learned to find
the word on the page of a dictionary. Through such study, children may
develop the habit of turning to books for information and enlightenment.
They will know how to seek and find. We cannot overestimate easily the
value of such a habit and its accompanying tendencies in their after
life.
We have spoken thus far of the child’s use of single books under the
direction of the teacher. A few words further in regard to the school
library, which should be an introduction to the Public Library.
In these days many schools are provided with the nucleus of a library.
Every school should have one. A few shelves of books, well chosen and
well used—these are next in importance to the teacher in the equipment of
a school. By properly using such books, the children learn how to choose
and to use their own books when they get them, and meanwhile how best to
avail themselves of the Public Library.
In order to afford enough practice in finding what is in the books which
are within reach, the teacher should assign to the pupils work which
will necessitate the use of these books. The reading lesson speaks of
the cultivation of cotton. Ask John or Joseph to learn whether any book
in the library throws light on the cultivation or manufacture of cotton.
The boy first makes up his mind what books will be likely to contain
this information, and then, by use of the indexes in the chosen books,
discovers his item, which he brings as his contribution to the class.
What he learns about cotton is of far less value to him than what he
gains through searching for the item. Again, the history lesson treats of
the war for independence. The teacher, instead of confining the pupils
to memorizing the work on the pages of the school history, sends them to
the bookshelves to consult the English histories which shall tell the
children something of George III. and the English statesmen of his time.
By and by they have gained not only some facility in the use of books,
but the knowledge that some books are of greater use than others in the
lines of their study.
It is but a step, now, from the school library to the Public Library, and
this step should be taken when the children feel the limitations of their
bookshelves. Their quest must take its beginning in their need; not in
the teacher’s advice, but in their inclination. John cannot find in any
book in the school library what he wants to know about William Pitt. Very
well. Does he know any book that would give him the desired information?
There may be books at the library, he volunteers. Ah, yes. How can he
find out? By going there. Susan suggests that the library catalogue will
tell him whether he can find there just what he wishes. And now the
school comes into possession of the catalogue of the Free Public Library
of the town—owns it _because_ the children need to use it. John finds
in the catalogue the names of the books which he thinks may contain the
object of his search. Here the teacher helps him by pointing out, from
her fuller knowledge, the books which will be simple enough to be of
service to him. Or the custodian of the library lends a hand, and names
the books which will be most helpful.
We may readily see that here begins another series of lessons which,
unfortunately, rarely makes its appearance. Inside the library door, the
youthful seeker after light struggles to get the book which he desires.
He must learn the machinery of the library, and somebody must teach him.
If the teacher knows the librarian and the librarian knows the teacher,
and both are interested in the boy, we have a happy state of affairs. His
card is filled out for him and properly signed. He is now allowed to take
books for himself. He must be told where to get them and how to get them;
what to do with them when he gets them; what to do if he cannot get them;
how, and when, and where to return them; what privileges he may have in
the use of them. Well for the boy if his two friends and co-laborers make
it worth while for him to use the library in these early days! Ah, who
shall tell us how to correctly mark in per cents the value of this boy’s
acquisition, or the worth of the teacher’s instruction?
In many of our cities, this coöperation of the library and the school
exists, and proves its usefulness. Teachers are supplied with teachers’
cards, allowing them to take six books at a time and retain them for a
long time. Classes are supplied with books. Boxes of books are carried
from school to school. Duplicates of much-desired books are secured from
the librarian. Children are taken to the library by the teacher, and the
classes study on the spot the operation of the system, and familiarize
themselves with its plan of action. Children are sent from school to
consult reference books, to study the collections of photographs, or the
mural decorations in the building. The Boston Public Library affords an
example, not only of stateliness of building and beauty of decoration,
but of efficiency of the system by which its recent librarian, Mr.
Herbert L. Putnam, did much to bring the library within the reach of the
school-children throughout the city.
If we rightly estimate the value of this tendency to read and this love
of books, we shall be willing to subordinate some of the formerly
accepted work of the schools to this essential tuition. Shall we continue
to spend money for our public libraries? If so, let us insure the return
of our investment a hundredfold, by fitting our children to make use of
the privileges which are thus afforded them, and teaching them to know
the best books.
[Illustration]
[In response to the requests made by many different teachers, I have
prepared a list of books, stories, and poems which are suitable for
reading or reciting to children. In all cases the selections have been
tested with numbers of children, often with numbers of classes, and the
list represents the thoughtful experience of many and different teachers.
In choosing, however, the teacher must be guided by her knowledge of her
own children. It is unwise to accept without question the judgment of
another, who may teach under conditions very different from those which
exist in the class of the seeker. Reference to the list may, however,
prevent fruitless excursions to the library for unnecessary reading of
the books which would be read only to be discarded. It will be safe to
make selections from the list for any class in the public schools.—S. L.
A.]
_Give me leave_
_T’enjoy myself; that place that does contain_
_My books, the best companions, is to me_
_A glorious court, where hourly I converse_
_With the old sages and philosophers;_
_And sometimes, for variety, I confer_
_With kings and emperors, and weigh their counsels;_
_Calling their victories, if unjustly got,_
_Unto a strict account, and, in my fancy,_
_Deface their ill-placed statues. Can I then_
_Part with such constant pleasures to embrace_
_Uncertain vanities? No; be it your care_
_T’augment your heap of wealth; it shall be mine_
_T’increase in knowledge._
—_BEAUMONT & FLETCHER._
[Illustration]