this age, must experience the results of the unexampled development of
science in its application to the affairs of life. The most immediately
obvious of these are the mechanical: so simple a device as the
sliding-press, as will be shown in its place, has saved the nation
thousands of pounds. The most promising field for such achievements has
hitherto been the United States of America, where the application of
scientific contrivances to ordinary purposes is more general than in
Europe, and where the more important libraries are new structures, where
improvements can form part of the original plan, with no fear of
impediment from arrangements already existing. Next to mechanics,
photography and electricity may be named as the scientific agencies
chiefly adapted for the promotion of library service. Photography has
been sufficiently treated in another essay in this volume. The services
of electricity will be most cordially acknowledged by those who best
remember the paralysis of literary work, alike official and private,
engendered by a fog at the British Museum, and in particular recall the
appearance of the Reading Room, a Byzantine "tower of darkness," with a
lantern dimly burning in the centre, the windows presenting the
appearance of slate, and dubious figures gliding or stumbling through
the gloom—attendants brought in from the library to take care that the
handful of discontented readers did not profit by the opportunity to
steal the books. All this nuisance has been abolished by the electric
light, which not only renders the Reading Room available for the public
on dark days, but allows the ordinary work of the Museum to be carried
on in all departments; the same may be said of all other libraries. The
beautiful, potent, and above all safe electric ray is an advantage to
all, and in dark days a passage from death unto life for those libraries
where, as in the Museum, gas has been proscribed on account of its
danger and its injurious effects upon books.
The services of electricity to libraries, however, are by no means
exhausted by the electric light. It is capable of rendering aid even
more important, and the more so in proportion to the extent of the
library. The need for rapid communication throughout large buildings has
been in some measure met by the telephone, whose usefulness is impaired
by its incapacity for transmitting and recording written messages.
Recourse must be had to the telegraph—not, of course, that ordinary
description of the instrument where the record is made in dots and
dashes, intelligibly solely to the expert—but the printing telegraph,
where the message appears in clear type, or a facsimile of the
transmitter's handwriting. The use of such telegraphs for various
purposes, especially those of the Stock Exchange, is now very familiar,
and there is perhaps no place where it could be introduced with more
signal advantage than the Reading Room of the British Museum.
There is no great reason at present for complaint of delay in bringing
books from the Museum library to the Reading Room; but the system is
not, as so many other points of Museum administration are, one to
challenge the administration and emulation of other libraries. It is
impossible to observe its working without pronouncing it cumbrous and
below the present level of civilised ingenuity. The reader writes his
ticket at the catalogue desk, generally with a pen trying to his temper,
and the captive of his bow and spear. He then walks some distance to
deposit it in a basket on the counter, where it remains until a boy is
at hand to carry it to the corridor outside the Reading Room, where it
is put into a clip and drawn up to the gallery. All these operations are
indispensable so long as recourse is solely had to human muscle, but
they evidently involve great loss of time. The object to be aimed at
should be _the delivery of the ticket at the table of the attendants who
procure the book in the library simultaneously with its being written in
the Reading Room_; and this seeming impossibility can be achieved by the
employment of a writing telegraph by which, as fast as the message is
written at one end of the wire, it is recorded in facsimile at the
other. The present writer has experimented with the American
Telautograph, and, so far as the experiments went, nothing could be more
satisfactory. No knowledge of telegraphy whatever is required from the
operator: he simply inscribes his message with a style on a piece of
tissue-paper, and it reappears simultaneously at the other end of the
wire. Nothing seems necessary but to furnish the catalogue desks with
electrical transmitters (which occupy no great space) instead of
inkstands, and to provide for the carrying of the wires out of the room.
When the writer endeavoured to introduce electrical communication in
1894, he feared that this requisite would present difficulties, but was
assured by experts that it really offered none. The ticket written by
the reader might be retained by him as a memorandum: if it could be
repeated in _duplicate_ at the other end, one copy might be treated as
now; the other, with any necessary correction, might be pasted at once
into the register, saving all the time now occupied in registration.
It is of course perfectly possible that hitches and breakings down might
at first occur from time to time, from the delicacy of the machine
employed, or from other causes. The machines have not been properly
tested, nor can they be, except by a continuous course of experiment.
But whence this morbid fear of experiment? After Darwin's definition,
the apprehension should surely be on the other side. A single machine,
kept at work for a week, would be sufficient to test the principle. The
first experiments with the electric light at the Museum were anything
but promising, but Sir Edward Bond persevered, and the result is what we
see.
And how brilliant a result the establishment of telegraphic
communication would be! The saving of time is no doubt the most
practical consideration, but apart from this, how vast the improvement
in the economy of the Reading Room! No more troops of boy attendants,
with the inevitable noise and bustle; nothing but the invisible
messenger speeding on his silent errand, and the quiet delivery of books
at the desks: an unparalleled scene of perfect physical repose in the
midst of intense mental activity. Of course the improvement would not
stop with the Reading Room, and ere long all departments would be
connected by the writing telegraph.
This paper, of course, is not written with any view of recommending the
Telautograph. Instruments better adapted for the purpose may exist,
although the writer has not met with them. He originally proposed the
employment of a printing telegraph as a means of abridging delays in the
Reading Room as long ago as 1876. The great improvements in
administration introduced at that time, however, rendered the need less
urgent; nor, perhaps, was electrical science itself then sufficiently
developed. Acquaintance with the Telautograph led him to take the
subject up again in 1893 and 1894, and he still hopes to find the
electric force a match for _vis inertiæ_.
ON THE PROTECTION OF LIBRARIES FROM FIRE
Of all the library's enemies, the most terrible is fire. Water is bad
enough; is it not recorded that the 450 copies of the Bible Society's
translation of the Gospel of St. Matthew into Manchu, printed on the
soft silken paper of China, were destroyed by an inundation of the Neva?
But such damage can rarely occur, unless when the element of the Sylph
is invoked to combat the element of the Salamander. The muddy waters of
the Neva, also, were probably more pernicious than the "salt sea
streams" would have been. We ourselves have transcribed manuscripts of
Shelley's which had been for months at the bottom of the Mediterranean,
and which, although protected by package, had evidently been soaked with
salt water. Exposure to fire for a hundred-thousandth part of the period
would not have left a letter legible.
The librarian's vigilance and resource, accordingly, ought to be
enlisted against fire in an especial manner, and no contrivance should
be overlooked that seems to afford the least prospect of controlling or
mitigating its ravages.
On July 17, 1884, experiments were made in the garden of Mr. Bernard
Quaritch, the eminent bookseller, with fire-proof cases devised by Mr.
Zaehnsdorf, equally distinguished as a binder, and were reported in the
_Academy_ of July 26. Three books, each enclosed in a separate case,
were put into a fire, and kept there for half-an-hour. On their being
extracted, "one, which had been in a case lined with tin, unpierced with
air-holes, suffered only in its binding, which had been slightly
damaged, not directly by the fire, but only by the heated metal. A
second, of which the case was of the usual kind, but also unpierced with
air-holes, came out intact. The third, in a case resembling that of the
second, but pierced with air-holes of good diameter, suffered most, the
fire, and the water by which the fire was extinguished, having both
found admission through those punctures, the water being the more
deleterious agent of the two. This book was, however, not materially
injured. From this experiment it may be concluded that a good case will
in almost all instances preserve a book from destruction by fire, that a
metal lining to the case is not necessary, and that the air-holes (which
experiments of a different kind have proved to be indispensable) should
be small and numerous, distributed over the top and front edges, and not
only on the top."
In 1894, the chief part of the library of Lord Carysfort at Elton Hall,
Peterborough, was destroyed by fire, these books only escaping which had
been protected by Mr. Zaehnsdorf's cases. On October 3, 1896, Lord
Carysfort wrote: "A few of my books which were in cases were quite
preserved from serious injury, the cases having been blackened and
destroyed, while the book and its binding were scarcely discoloured.
Since the fire I have had all my valuable books put into cases such as
you make."
These circumstances having accidentally become known to the writer, he
thought it his duty to test Mr. Zaehnsdorf's cases for himself. Two of
these, filled with printed papers of no value, were placed (April 1897)
on a very hot fire in the writer's own study, in the presence of Mr.
Zaehnsdorf and several officers of the library of the British Museum.
The result was highly satisfactory. Though the cases were greatly
damaged, the papers received very little injury, and this only when they
were in actual contact with the bottom and sides of the cases. Had they
been bound volumes, nothing would have suffered except the edges of the
binding.
It seems evident that Mr. Zaehnsdorf's invention well deserves the
attention of wealthy collectors of precious books. There is a serious
obstacle to its introduction on an extensive scale into great libraries
from the expense of the cases, which at present average about a pound a
piece. It is probable, however, that cases could be contrived to take
books by the shelf-ful instead of single volumes. In any event, however,
it would be well worth while to employ them for the protection of books
of extreme rarity and inestimable manuscripts, as well as the archives
of great libraries, and artistic and scientific departments in general,
which, when calendared, as they must one day be if they have not been
burned first, will be among the most valuable of materials for the
history of culture.
It is no doubt true that the best protection against fire is not any
mechanical device, but the contiguity of a good fire brigade. But at
Elton Hall the nearest brigade was many miles off, and, be it as near as
it will, it is also true that such devices are not exposed to the
negligences, misunderstandings, and other infirmities incident to
mortals which may in an evil hour paralyse the operations of human
agents; and that the most efficient brigade will be greatly helped by
anything which, by retarding the progress of a conflagration, holds it
back from gaining the mastery before the opposing forces have been fully
brought into play. This important object might also be promoted by the
employment of wood specially seasoned by a chemical process. Experiments
made on behalf of the British Museum in the spring of 1898 have been
highly satisfactory, evincing that although wood so treated will char,
it will not, properly speaking, burn, and that the use of it for floors
and shelving would materially impede the process of combustion.
THE SLIDING-PRESS AT THE BRITISH MUSEUM[262:1]
The object of this paper is to give a short account of the sliding-press
or hanging book-press now in use at the British Museum, and to suggest
the importance of its introduction elsewhere where possible, and of
regard being had to it in forming the plans of libraries hereafter to be
built. Every successful library is destined to be confronted sooner or
later with the problem how to enlarge its insufficient space. Without
considerable financial resources such enlargement has hitherto been
absolutely impracticable, and even where practicable has rarely been
carried into effect without a long period of makeshift, discomfort, and
disorganisation, for which the enlargement itself affords only a
temporary remedy. The great advantages of the sliding-press in this
point of view are two: it allows expansion within the edifice itself,
without the necessity of additional building, and it enables this
expansion to be effected gradually out of the regular income of the
library without the need of appealing for the large sums which would be
required by extensive structural additions to the existing edifice.
I may assume that all present have seen, or will see, the photographs of
the Museum sliding-press exhibited to the Conference, with the
accompanying description. I may therefore be very brief in my account of
it here, and simply characterise it as an additional bookcase hung in
the air from beams or rods projecting in front of the bookcase which it
is desired to enlarge, provided with handles for moving it backwards and
forwards, working by rollers running on metal ribs projecting laterally
from the above-mentioned beams or rods, and so suspended from these ribs
as absolutely not to touch the ground anywhere. These are its essential
characteristics, without which it would be indeed an additional
book-press, but not a hanging-press or sliding-press. In recommending
this system of additional accommodation, I by no means wish to insist
upon this special form as the only one adapted for the necessities of a
library. I have no doubt that in very many libraries the arrangement of
the projecting beams or rods would be inapplicable, and that it would be
better to resort to the original form of the idea, from which the Museum
derived its own application of it—the idea, namely, of a skeleton door
made in shelves, hinged upon the press requiring expansion, running on a
wheel resting upon a metal quadrant let into the floor, and opening and
shutting like any ordinary door. I have merely to affirm that for the
Museum the adaptation we have made is a very great improvement; but
this is due to the peculiar construction of the rooms to which the new
press has hitherto been chiefly confined. Rooms of this pattern do not
generally exist in public libraries, and where they are not found I am
inclined to think that the plan which I have just described, the
prototype of the Museum sliding-press, may be found the more
advantageous. I also think, however, that for reasons quite unconnected
with the sliding-press, this pattern of room ought to be imitated in
libraries hereafter to be built, and when this is the case, it must
inevitably bring the Museum press after it. It will therefore be worth
while to describe this style of building, in order that the mutual
adaptation of it and of the sliding-press may be clear. It consists of
three storeys lighted entirely from the top. It is therefore necessary
for the transmission of light from top to bottom that the floors of the
two upper storeys should be open; and they are in fact iron gratings. It
follows that the floor of the highest storey must form the ceiling of
the second, and the floor of the second the ceiling of the third. Here
is the key to the sliding-press system. The beams or rods which I have
described as projecting from the presses that line the wall already
existed in the shape of the bars of the grating, and did not require to
be introduced. Nothing was needful but to provide them with flanking
ribs projecting at right angles, from which, as you see in the
photographs, the additional press could be suspended by rollers,
admitting of easy working backwards and forwards, and then the
sliding-press was fully developed out of the skeleton door. No thought
of it had ever crossed the minds of the original designers of the
building; yet they could have made no better arrangement had this been
planned with an especial view to its introduction. They had even made
the storeys of exactly the right height, eight feet. I have not hitherto
mentioned that the press takes books both before and behind, because
this feature is not essential, and must indeed be departed from when the
press is applied to the accommodation of newspapers and such like large
folios. For ordinary books it is manifestly a great advantage, but
carries with it the obligation that the presses shall not be higher than
eight feet, or, when full on both sides, they will be too heavy to work
with comfort, unless, which I do not think impracticable, machinery for
the purpose should be introduced.
The principle of a sliding or hanging-press is, so far as I know,
entirely peculiar to the British Museum, and hardly could have
originated elsewhere than in a building possessing, like the Museum,
floors and ceilings entirely grated. The main point, however, the
provision of supplementary presses to increase the capacity of the
library without requiring additional space, had previously been worked
out in at least two libraries. The earliest example, apart from casual
and accidental applications at Trinity College, Dublin, and, as I have
been told, the Bodleian, was, I believe, at Bradford Free Library, and
the gentleman entitled to the credit of its introduction there was Mr.
Virgo, the librarian. Mr. Virgo's contrivance was, I understand, a
double door, not hinged on to the original press in one piece, as in the
pattern I have just described, but opening in two divisions to right and
left, as frequently the case in cupboards. I speak, however, with some
uncertainty, for when, writing on the subject in Mr. Dewey's _Library
Notes_, and most anxious to give Mr. Virgo all due credit, I applied to
him for particulars of his invention, modesty, as I must suppose,
rendered him silent, or at best but insufficiently articulate. I hope he
may be present to-day, and that the Conference may hear the particulars
from himself. It is due, however, to the Bethnal Green Library, the
other institution to which I have referred as having given effect to the
principle of press expansion _in situ_, to state most explicitly that
the idea of its application at the Museum was derived wholly and solely
from Bethnal Green; that the Bradford example, though it had been set
for some years previously, was never heard of at the Museum until the
model had been constructed and the first presses ordered; and that I am
satisfied that Bethnal Green knew as little of Bradford as the Museum
did. The Bethnal Green inventor was, I am informed, the late Dr. Tyler,
the founder and principal benefactor of the institution, and, as
elsewhere, the device was resorted to by him under the pressure of a
temporary emergency—in this case the accumulation of specifications of
patents annually presented by the Patent Office. The introduction of the
principle at the Museum dates from a November evening of 1886, when,
going down to attend a little festivity on occasion of the reopening of
the Bethnal Green Library after renovation, I was shown the
supplementary presses by the librarian, Mr. Hilcken. I immediately saw
the value of the idea, and next morning sent for Mr. Jenner, assistant
in the Printed Book Department, in whose special fitness I felt great
confidence, from his admirable performance of the duty of placing the
books daily added to the Museum, which frequently requires much
ingenuity and contrivance. I told Mr. Jenner what I had seen, and
desired him to consider whether he could devise a method of adapting the
Bethnal Green system to the exigencies of the British Museum. He did
consider: he went down to Bethnal Green and saw the presses employed
there, and, to his infinite credit, hit upon the plan of suspending the
presses from the grated floors of the upper storey in the manner shown
by the photograph, which, as I have already pointed out, is entirely
original. A model was constructed by the aid of Mr. Sparrow, the
ingenious locksmith of the Museum. Mr. Bond, then principal librarian,
took the matter up warmly, the first batch of presses was ordered early
in 1887, and from that time forward we have had no difficulty at the
Museum in providing space for ordinary books, although some structural
alterations will be requisite before the sliding-press can be applied to
the whole of the New Library, and it must be modified if it is to be
made serviceable for newspapers. A new room in the White Wing, not
admitting of a grated ceiling, has been specially adapted with a view to
the introduction of the press, and may be usefully studied by librarians
about to build, although I think that some modifications will be found
expedient. I have pleasure in adding that on my report of June 1, 1888,
in which I went into the whole matter very fully, the trustees obtained
from the Treasury a gratuity of £100 for Mr. Jenner and of £20 for Mr.
Sparrow, in recognition of their services.