(Friday, June 28, 8:15 p. m.)
The first session of the College and Reference section was held on the
evening of June 28, in the banquet room of the Chateau Laurier, about
75 people being present. In the absence of Dr. A. S. Root, chairman of
the section, and Miss Irene Warren, secretary, the meeting was called
to order by Mr. P. L. Windsor, who had at the request of Dr. Root and
of Mr. Utley, arranged the program; Mr. S. J. Brandenburg acted as
secretary.
Mr. THEODORE W. KOCH, librarian of the University of Michigan, read the
first paper entitled
SOME PHASES OF THE ADMINISTRATIVE HISTORY OF COLLEGE AND UNIVERSITY
LIBRARIES[8]
The development of college and university libraries has been so rapid
during the past score of years that it may be worth while to turn
back for a moment and collect a few illustrations of early ideas of
library management from the history of the older universities. The most
interesting ones for this purpose are those of Oxford and Cambridge,
Harvard, Yale and Columbia universities.
[8] Abridged from an address delivered before the New York State
Library School and the University of Michigan Summer Library School.
The Bodleian in its reorganized form was opened in 1602 with a stock
of two thousand five hundred volumes--a fairly large collection for
those days. It had been established in Duke Humphrey's day in a suite
of rooms over the Divinity School "far removed" as the old university
records put it, "from any worldly noise." The first rules for the
government of the library were drafted by Bodley himself. While in
general they were wise ones, they reflected the spirit of the times
in which they were written. Sir Thomas objected to the inclusion
of belles-lettres as beneath the dignity of the institution he was
fostering. "I can see no good reason," said he, "to alter my rule for
excluding such books as Almanacks, Plays, and an infinite number that
are daily printed of very unworthy matters. Haply some plays may be
worthy the keeping--but hardly one in forty.... This is my opinion,
wherein if I err I shall err with infinite others; and the more I think
upon it, the more it doth distaste me that such kinds of books should
be vouchsafed room in so noble a library." Scholars were required to
leave a deposit in cash as a pledge of good faith when borrowing books,
but the deposit was usually a mere trifle compared with the value of
the loan. Unscrupulous borrowers willingly forfeited the money and kept
the manuscripts. Some volumes were stolen, while others were entered
in the catalog as "missing," a distinction with perhaps very little
difference. Tradition says that Polidore Virgil had stolen so many
books that the authorities were finally compelled to deny him access to
the library, whereupon he promptly obtained from Henry VIII a special
license to borrow whatever manuscripts he desired and the librarian had
to bow to the ruling of the King.
In a manuscript copy of the works of St. Augustine and St. Ambrose in
the Bodleian, is written, "This book belongs to St. Mary of Robert's
Bridge: Whosoever steals it, or sells it, or takes it away from this
house in any way, or injures it, let him be anathema maranatha."
Underneath another hand has written, "I, John, Bishop of Exeter, do not
know where the said house is: I did not steal this book, but got it
lawfully."
At one time folios in the Bodleian were chained to the shelves but the
custom was given up and the chains sold for old iron in 1769. That
the arrangements at the Bodleian were viewed with favor by library
benefactors can be seen from a letter which the worthy John Hollis
of London, second founder of Harvard College library, sent to the
authorities at Cambridge in 1735: "You want seats to sit and read in
and chains to your valuable books like our Bodleian library or Zion
College in London. You let your books be taken at pleasure to men's
houses and many are lost, your boyish students take them to their
chambers and tear out pictures and maps to adorn their walls."
Gibbon in his autobiography has commented upon the sloth of 18th
century Oxford and its absolute indifference to study. The records of
the Bodleian substantiate the low point to which the intellectual life
of the university had ebbed. The registers of books borrowed for the
decade 1730-1740 show that only rarely were more than one or two books
asked for in a day. In some cases a whole week is passed over without
a single entry being made. The indifference throughout the university
showed itself in the management of the library. For 92 years, that is,
from 1768-1860, the Bodleian was so unfortunate as to be in the hands
of only two men, the Reverend John Price, of Jesus College, who died
in his eightieth year, and Dr. Bulkeley Bandinel, his son-in-law, who
lived to be even a year older than his predecessor. As an illustration
of Price's ideas of librarianship we have it noted by Professor Beddoes
that "he discouraged readers by neglect and incivility, was very
careless in regard to the value or condition of the books he purchased,
and had little knowledge of foreign publications." When Captain
Cook's Voyages were first published there was quite a demand for the
work. Librarian Price promptly loaned it to the Rector of Lincoln
College, telling him that the longer he kept it out the better, for
as long as it was known to be in the library he would be perpetually
plagued by inquiries after it. Price has been compared to the verger
who sorrowfully complained that people were continually invading his
church and "praying all over the place." However, it must in justice
be said that Price's correspondence as printed by John Nichols in his
"Illustrations of the literary history of the 18th century," shows him
to have been helpful to some of the scholars of his day.
Bodleian's librarians in the eighteenth century were mostly clerks
in holy orders and it was not uncommon for them to fail to open the
library at all on a Saturday if they were "taking duty in the country,"
on the following day. There is preserved in the Bodleian a scrap of
paper which an angry scholar affixed to the door of the library in 1806
when he found it closed contrary to the statutes. On it were these
words in Greek: "Woe unto you who have taken away the key of knowledge!
Ye enter not yourself and hinder those who come."
How striking is the difference between the lax administration of
the 18th century and that of the 20th can be seen by a study of the
Bodleian staff-calendar, an annual of over 400 pages in which are
listed day by day the special duties of various members of the staff,
with all sorts of suggestions for the improvement of the service.
King George III in his famous interview with Dr. Johnson asked whether
there were better libraries at Oxford or at Cambridge. The sage replied
that he believed the Bodleian was larger than any library they had at
Cambridge, at the same time adding, "I hope whether we have more books
or not than they have at Cambridge we shall make as good use of them as
they do,"--a reply which I always like to associate with the remark of
Dr. Cogswell: "I would as soon tell you how many tons the Astor Library
weighs, as how many volumes it contains."
While the university library at Cambridge has never been the recipient
of such large and rich donations as has the Bodleian, it is today
one of the best stocked university libraries in the world. Its first
benefactor was Thomas Scott of Rotheram, archbishop of York, who
not only gave 200 books and manuscripts, but also the first library
building. Despite other benefactions the collection appeared "but mean"
in the eyes of John Evelyn when he visited it in 1654.
Among the earliest gifts to one of the college libraries at Cambridge
there are some volumes which raise curious questions. According to Dr.
Montague R. James, the provost of King's College, Cambridge, one book
has the Bury bookmark and evidently came from that source; another
belonged to the canons of Hereford, another to Worcester, and another
to Durham. How and under what conditions did the early collegiate
and monastic bodies part with these? "Was there not very probably
an extensive system of sale of duplicates? I prefer this notion,"
writes Dr. James, "to the idea that they got rid of their books
indiscriminately, because the study of monastic catalogs shows quite
plainly that the number of duplicates in any considerable library was
very large. On the other hand it is clear that books often got out of
the old libraries into the hands of quite unauthorized persons: so that
there was probably both fair and foul play in the matter."
The most famous librarian of Cambridge University library was Henry
Bradshaw, who not only left a strong impress upon the paleographers
and historians of his day, but did much for librarianship by his
contributions to bibliography and his work on the printed catalogs
issued by the Cambridge University library. He believed in making
the library as accessible as possible to those who were entitled
to its use. The watchwords of his administration were "liberty and
discretion," liberty for the people to go freely about the whole
library, examining and borrowing such books as they liked, and
discretion on the part of the administration in putting such extremely
moderate restrictions upon this freedom that the security of its most
precious books were safeguarded and the presence of the books most
constantly needed for reference was assured without undue interference
with freedom of access to the shelves or the borrowing of books from
the library.
His management of the university library was not in all respects
satisfactory, due mostly to the fact that the staff was very inadequate
to the task of the attempted reclassification of the large collection
of books, and also to the crowded condition of the building. Bradshaw
did not have a marked capacity for working through subordinates. "He
could not," said one of his assistants, "bring himself to allow any
one to answer letters for him." He used to carry large numbers of
unanswered letters in his coat pockets and would sometimes take them
out and show them with a certain mischievous glee and say in his droll
way, "I am too wicked. What shall I do?" No one knew this failing
better than himself. He once remarked to Thomas Buchanan Read, who
wanted some information from him, "You had better come and get what
you can by word of mouth. I offend lots of my friends by not answering
their letters, or by losing them like yours." One friend, to whom he
had long promised a visit and who could not get a definite answer to
his invitations, sent Bradshaw two post cards on one of which was
written "Yes," and on the other "No," asking him to post one or the
other. Bradshaw promptly posted both, although by the next mail he
wrote to say that he would come,--and he kept his promise.
Bradshaw used to say that whenever he was asked to send back an
interesting book he "suffered from a chronic paralysis of the will
and could not return it until the fit had passed away." In matters of
routine business he was, however, seldom behind time and his library
accounts were always accurately kept. He was very strict about the
observance of the library rules and could never tolerate seeing books
mishandled. Dr. Zupitza, a great friend and admirer of Bradshaw, tells
how one day he was making notes in ink from the famous manuscript of
Bede's "Ecclesiastical history," in the Cambridge University Library
when Bradshaw happened to notice him. "You Germans have no reverence,"
said the librarian as he rushed at the ink bottle and carried it away.
A manuscript of that character was not to be approached with anything
more dangerous than a lead pencil.
Bradshaw had no personal ambition and was only too eager to give away
such information as he possessed. He put his vast store of knowledge
at the disposal of his large group of friends and their books were all
the better for his bibliographical zeal. He himself left comparatively
little finished work. "My province," he once wrote, "is to give help on
certain details which most people don't care about."
Before leaving Oxford and Cambridge, a word must be said about the
individual college libraries. Many of these date from the 15th century
when it was the exception rather than the rule for university students
to own books. Books were rented from both booksellers and tutors.
The college libraries then, as today, did not have enough copies of
text-books to go around. The statutes of St. Mary's College, Oxford,
dating from 1446, forbade a scholar the continual use of a book in
the library for more than one hour or at most two hours, for fear
that others wanting the book might be hindered from the use of it.
Most of the two score colleges of Oxford and Cambridge have their own
libraries, many of them filled to overflowing with precious manuscripts
and old authors. While the manuscripts, like those of Corpus Christi,
naturally attract scholars from all over the world, the libraries are
now comparatively little used by the students of the universities
themselves. This is not surprising when it is known that to some of
them no books have been added for a century or more. There is no union
depository catalog in a central place showing what these libraries
contain and very little correlation, although there has been some
specialization, as in the dramatic collection at Trinity College,
Cambridge, or the modern history at Merton College, Oxford.
Several years ago when I visited the Bodleian Library, I was shown
around the portion known as "Duke Humphrey's library," and when I
admired the old parchment bound volumes in the alcoves my guide
remarked sententiously: "These books were on these shelves when the
Pilgrims sailed for America." That remark points to an essential
difference between many of the old world libraries and those of this
country. The museum feature which is so strong in the administration of
some of the European libraries is much less prominent in those of the
United States.
Illustrations of university library history in this country naturally
begin with Harvard. The library there was begun on the death of its
first benefactor in 1638 with his bequest of 320 volumes. The Mathers
were among the largest collectors of books in their day in New England
but few of their possessions passed into the college collection, most
of the Mather library having been destroyed in 1775 during the battle
of Bunker Hill. About the close of the 17th century Cotton Mather said
of the Harvard College Library that while it was "far from a Vatican
or Bodleian dimension" he considered it the "best furnished that can
be shown anywhere in the American regions." The fire of 1763 which
destroyed the first Harvard Hall destroyed also the entire college
library, housed in an upper room, with the exception of one volume:
Downame's "Christian Warfare," which was out in circulation at the
time. "May Harvard Library," wrote John Barnard of Marblehead, "rise
out of its ashes with new life and vigor, and be durable as the sun,
tho' the building is a nuisance." This contemptuous sounding phrase,
intended to describe the ruined building, can again almost be justified
in connection with the overcrowded and outgrown structure of today. The
first general catalog of the library, printed in 1790, containing 350
pages, devotes 100 pages to theological tracts, 50 to religious books,
3-1/2 to Bibles, 3/4 of a page to periodicals, 4 to books of travel,
and ten to Greek and Latin authors--all of which shows how closely the
college had held to its original purpose as a training school for the
ministry.
There was practically no change in the curriculum at Harvard College
during the first two centuries of its existence. The old classical
course as pursued by our forefathers required comparatively few books.
With the introduction of such studies as modern history and languages,
the sciences and economics, came the demand for access to many books,
both old and new.
That books were regarded as a first essential in the establishment
of colleges in the New World is shown not only by the terms of John
Harvard's will, which bequeathed one-half of his estate and all
his library "towards the erecting of a college," but also by the
picturesque founding of Yale College. Eleven ministers met in New Haven
in 1700 agreeing to form a college. Each member brought a number of
books and presented them to the body, and laying them on the table said
these words, or to this effect: "I give these books for the founding of
a college in this colony." Then the trustees as a body took possession
of them and appointed the Rev. Mr. Russel of Branford as keeper of
the library, which at that time consisted of about 40 folio volumes.
The library with the additions which came in was kept at Branford for
nearly three years, and was then carried to Killingworth. In 1765 the
library had grown to 4,000 volumes, showing a growth of only 60 volumes
a year through two generations.
Other American university libraries showed equally modest beginnings.
In a letter from President Manning to Dr. Llewellyn, 1752, is found the
following reference to the early efforts made on behalf of the library
of Brown University: "At present we have but about 250 volumes and
these not well chosen, being such as our friends could best spare," a
statement which was equally true of many other college libraries of
that period.
The vicissitudes of American university libraries in their early years
would seem to have been enough to discourage any but the stoutest
hearted librarian. Thus the King's College buildings in New York having
been required by the British for a military hospital, the books were
deposited in the City Hall or elsewhere. Three years later some 600
or 700 volumes were found in a room in St. Paul's Chapel. How they got
there is a mystery, but they were all that remained of the nucleus
of what is today the Columbia University Library. Mr. John Pintard,
the founder of the New York Historical Society used to say that he
remembered seeing the British soldiers carry away the books from the
college library in their knapsacks and barter them for grog. Horace
Walpole in his Memoirs sneers at the Prince of Wales, afterwards George
III, for presenting a collection of books to an American college during
the Revolutionary War, and says that, instead of books, his Royal
Highness ought to have sent arms and ammunition.
In his report as secretary of the Smithsonian Institution for 1850,
Prof. C. C. Jewett wrote: "Our colleges are mostly eleemosynary
institutions. Their libraries are frequently the chance aggregation
of the gifts of charity; too many of them discarded, as well-nigh
worthless, from the shelves of donors. (But) among them are some
very important collections, chosen with care and competent learning,
purchased with economy and guarded with prudence."
In 1850 Marshall College at Mercersburg, Pa., reported that "the
college library is distributed among the professors--each professor
having charge of those books pertaining to his department." Until
comparatively recent years the periodicals subscribed to by one of
our western state universities were sent direct to the homes of the
professors interested and whether they were brought to the library
later for binding depended upon the whim of the professor.
One of the striking contrasts between the college library of today and
that of the middle of the last century is shown by a comparison of the
hours of opening. The Chinese character for "library" means "a place
for hiding books," and if some members of the present day faculties
think there is still justification for this pictograph, what would
they say of the apology for a library which their predecessors had
to contend with? In 1850 the libraries at Amherst and Trinity, for
example, were open once a week from 1 to 3 p. m., at Princeton one hour
twice a week, at the University of Missouri one hour every two weeks.
At the University of Alabama there was a rule that "the books shall
ordinarily be received at the door, without admitting the applicant
into the library room." Harvard with its 28 hours of opening per week
was as usual in the vanguard of progress, but contrast even those
liberal hours with present day schedules of 89 hours and even more per
week and you see that there has been considerable progress along this
line.
"A quarter of a century ago the library in most of our
institutions," said the late President Harper in an address
delivered in 1894, "even the oldest, was scarcely large enough, if
one were to estimate values, to deserve the name of library. So
far as it had location, it was the place to which the professor
was accustomed to make his way occasionally, the student almost
never. It was open for consultation during perhaps one hour a
day for three days a week. The better class of students, it was
understood, had no time for reading. It was only the 'ne'er do
well,' the man with little interest in the class-room text-book,
who could find time for general reading. Such reading was a
distraction, and a proposition that one might profit by consulting
other books which bore upon the subject or subjects treated in the
text-book would have been scouted. All such work was thought to
be distracting. The addition of one hundred volumes in a single
year was something noteworthy. The place, seldom frequented, was
some out-of-the-way room which could serve no other use. The
librarian--there was none. Why should there have been? Any officer
of the institution could perform the needed service without
greatly increasing the burden of his official duties."
That the college library of the middle of the last century was little
more than a storehouse for books, in which the undergraduate had very
little interest, is amply substantiated by the reminiscences of older
graduates. "To those of us who graduated thirty, or forty, or more
years ago," said the late William Frederick Poole, "books, outside
of text-books used, had no part in our education. They were never
quoted, recommended, or mentioned by instructors in the class-room.
As I remember it, Yale College library might as well have been in
Wetherfield, or Bridgeport, as in New Haven, so far as the students in
those days were concerned."
In the old days at Columbia College, freshmen and sophomores were
allowed to visit the library only once a month to gaze at the backs of
books; the juniors were taken there once a week by a tutor who gave
verbal information about the contents of the books, but only seniors
were permitted to open the precious volumes, which they could draw
from the library during one hour on Wednesday afternoons. In 1853,
the salary of the librarian of Columbia was raised to three hundred
dollars! Professor Brander Matthews, who graduated from Columbia in
1871, says that the library was at that time small and inconvenient
and that he never entered it to read a book and never drew one from it
during all the time he was an undergraduate.
The rules of the old days forbade the use of any lights in the Harvard
Library, "excepting only when the librarian is obliged to seal official
letters with wax he may with proper precautions use a lighted taper
for that purpose." This recalls an entry in the diary of John Langdon
Sibley, who records spending "four hours with a lantern and cloak in
the chilly cellar" where he found many books and pamphlets not in the
College Library.
Mr. Sibley, who spent 36 years in the service of the Harvard Library,
has frequently been pictured as typical of the old style collector and
custodian of books. The story is told of his having once completed
an inventory of the library and, when seen crossing the yard with
a particularly happy smile, was asked the reason for this pleased
expression. "All the books are in excepting two," said he. "Agassiz has
those and I am going after them." Exaggerated as this picture of him
undoubtedly is, it must be said that he did lay much more emphasis upon
the collecting and preservation of books than upon their use.
His successor, Justin Winsor, was the author of the remark which has
come to be regarded as one of the truisms of modern librarianship: "A
book is never so useful as when it is in use."
In his second annual report (1879) Mr. Winsor thus summed up his
idea of library management: "Diligent administration, considerate
forbearance, care that no rule is enforced for the sake of mere outward
uniformity, and the establishment of reciprocal confidence between
the government and the users of the library, open the way to many
relaxations of old established prohibitions, which could not be safely
allowed if a less conciliatory spirit prevailed. There should be no bar
to the use of books, but the rights of others, and it is to the credit
of the mass of library users that, when a librarian manifests that
single purpose, he can safely be liberal in the discharge of his trust."
Mr. Winsor had an exceptional faculty for organization and
administration. For some time after he left the service of the Boston
Public Library it was hardly noticeable that there was no librarian.
This was due to the fine organization which Mr. Winsor had effected and
did not prove, as Alderman O'Brien of Boston argued, that Mr. Winsor's
services could easily be dispensed with. He found time for writing
history during the years of his librarianship at Boston and at Harvard
because he knew how to administer. No doubt in his later years the
historian in him overshadowed the librarian.
The salient feature of Mr. Winsor's administration of the Harvard
College Library lay in the fact that he extended very materially the
use of books by students. He instituted the system of "reserved" books
by which the instructor is enabled to have gathered in an accessible
place the reading which he required of his classes,--a device
absolutely essential in the new method of teaching which substitutes
the reading of authorities for the old time study of text-books.
* * * * *
And what as to the buildings in which these libraries are housed? The
earlier ones like those of Harvard and Yale, were suggestive of Gothic
chapels, while the later ones, like Michigan, Illinois and Cornell, are
based upon an ecclesiastical motif, and have the questionable addition
of a clock tower, the usual accompanying chimes helping to break
into the quiet which it is so desirable to maintain in any library.
Harvard's Gore Hall was an attenuated copy of the chapel of St. John's
College, Cambridge, England, and necessarily ill adapted to the needs
of a library. It was poorly lighted, poorly ventilated, hard to warm
in winter, damp in parts during the spring and autumn. There were no
private rooms, no working room, no conversation room, and no reading
room worthy of the name. The only saving thing about the management was
that the advice of old John Hollis was not followed and both students
and professors were allowed to draw books for use in their rooms and
homes.
* * * * *
In some cases where the library building has been presented as a gift
or as a memorial, trouble has arisen from the proverbial difficulty
about examining too closely into the lines of the proposed gift.
Notable illustrations of this are found in the libraries of Columbia
University, the University of Pennsylvania and the late but not
lamented library of Leland Stanford University. The Columbia University
Library, the gift of ex-President Low in memory of his father, was
designed by McKim, Mead & White after the plan of the head of the firm,
the late Mr. Charles F. McKim. Some of you may be familiar with the
story of the visitor to Mr. McKim's studio asking how he was getting on
with the plans for the new library. "Oh, everything is going lovely,"
said he. "You see there on the wall the outline of the facade and the
layout of the building. I have worked up all the details of the reading
room and the large dome--but I don't know where to put the darned
books."
"Today," wrote President Harper, "the chief building in the college,
the building in which is taken the most pride, is the library. With the
stack for storage purposes, the reading room for reference books, the
offices for delivery, the rooms for seminary purposes, it is the center
of educational activity. The staff of assistants is often larger than
the entire faculty of the same institution thirty years ago."
The importance of the university library in the educational work of
the institution is being recognized more fully each year. "Much of the
usefulness and attractiveness of the university for its students,"
said President Eliot in his annual report for 1905-06, "depends on
the size of the library, on the promptness with which it obtains the
newest interesting books, and on the efficiency and liberality of its
administration. Any need of the library is therefore a need of the
whole university."
The second paper was then read by Mr. WILLARD AUSTEN, assistant
librarian of Cornell University. His paper, an abstract of which
follows, was entitled
RIGHTS OF THE USERS OF A COLLEGE AND UNIVERSITY LIBRARY AND HOW TO
PRESERVE THEM
The problem of administering a college or university library with due
regard to the rights of all the users is far from simple. A college or
university community is not a democracy, where all have equal rights.
The natural division into two great classes, the mature teacher and
the immature student is the first apparent cause for the modification
of privileges. The need of materials for teaching as opposed to the
needs of the student suggests other modifications. The need for books
of research at home or in the laboratory that may also be wanted for
general reading, introduces a third factor that may disturb any set of
rules that may be framed.
Any reader should be allowed to use any book in the library when and
where it is most convenient to do so, so far as this can be done and
preserve the rights of other users and preserve valuable materials not
easily replaced for future generations of users. The ability to shift
any book from the place where it is little needed to the place where it
is much needed, at a moment's notice, is the ideal.
Users may be roughly grouped as follows:
1. Instructors of all grades, those whose need for books is primarily
for teaching.
2. Those doing research work, which class may include teachers,
graduate and undergraduate students.