208 THE LIBRARY 



fragrance of its scent? And this garden can be carried in the breast 

 and sheltered in the heart. And this book can make thy under- 

 standing fruitful, and God the Almighty may enlarge thy understand- 

 ing, and make thee to know many things, and make thy character 

 noble, and give increase in all talents. . . . And it is an eloquent 

 although a dumb and silent monitor. If thou have not gained aught 

 else from its preference, has it not kept thee from sitting with fools 

 and from communing with the wicked? This book is a great inherit- 

 ance for thee, and a shining glory, and a beloved brother, and a 

 faithful servant, and a joy-bringing messenger." If a small ethical 

 manual thus impressed the wisdom-loving Michael, what would he 

 have said to a great modern library with its storehouses of all that 

 the human mind has wrought for instruction and delight ? 



" Knowledge grows from more to more," and in the midst of its 

 immense and bewildering variety we are gradually feeling towards 

 a sense of unity. There may be unity in diversity as there may be 

 progression by antagonism. When the Royal Society was estab- 

 lished in 1662, its aim was declared to be " the promotion of natural 

 knowledge," the intention being, presumably, in the interests of 

 peace, to exclude all that relates to the spiritual faculties as super- 

 natural and beyond the scope of research. Some at least of the later 

 academies wisely avoid such limitations and deal with all subjects 

 that can be dealt with from the point of view of scholarship. The 

 Smithsonian Institution, that remarkable gift from a son of the Old 

 World to the sons of the New World for the benefit of both hemi- 

 spheres, was founded for the "increase and diffusion of knowledge 

 among men." Is there a better definition of the function of the 

 library? The ideal collection of books knows no limitations of sub- 

 ject, but takes all knowledge for its province. It certainly does 

 not exclude theology. A large library building would not hold all 

 that has been written about the Bible alone. A small one might 

 be filled with the printed material relating to Thomas a Kempis and 

 his Imitation of Christ. The " Poet at the Breakfast-Table " sup- 

 posed his neighbor to be an entomologist, but the man of science 

 was too modest to claim that title. Often spoken of as a coleopterist, 

 he was content to be a scarabceist. " If I can prove myself worthy 

 of that name," he said, " my highest ambition will be more than satis- 

 fied." Every specialist knows how great his own subject is, how 

 extensive its literature, how difficult, if not impossible, to bring to- 

 gether all the facts and speculations of those who have preceded him 

 in the investigation of the little corner of chaos that he is striving 

 to reduce to cosmic order. 



If, then, the librarian could summon the Spirit of the Lamp to 

 create the ideal library, its main characteristic as a collection of books 

 would be its universality. The ideal library may have stood in one 



