Evening star., 1925-03-05

The library was deserted.
Silence of the kind that is supposed
to reign in them had fullest sway. One
fully expected to hear a pin drop, only
there was no one there to drop it.
A deserted library. The librarian
had flown the coop of his little desk
the readers were away at golf, and only
/ was left to drink of the nectar of the
gods.
l like my libraries deserted. 1t is
the public that spoils libraries. And
yet, since most of them were found ed
for the public, one ought not to expe ct
any privacy in them except that of his
own thoughts.
There is something fascinating about
deserted places. The imagination thrills
to visions of the Sargasso Sea-, with
seaweed and octopi struggling for
dominion, or to stories of the illimitable
Sahara Desert. its lions, sand and
GASES.
Goldsmiths famous poem, THE De-
serted Village" owes some of it's
perennial charm to this enticement felt
by human beings for the place that
ought to have life In 1t, but does not.
Research among the ruins of ancient
cities, such as Pompeii, proves fasci-
mating not only to the explorers but
also to the public at large, as witness
the extreme world wide interest in the
excavation Of the tomb of Tut-ankh-
Amen.
The spirit of quiet prevails, where
once was laughter and song, perhaps
Streets long ago filed with the roll of
chariot and tramp of human feet, now
observe strange silence, as the Invaders
walk with soft steps. fearful Of disturb
ing those who are no more.
/ Over all dust and dread, and the re-
&c Of h. z;In -
tomb, and memory OF things that are
no more. Fragments, where once
stood temples; broken bits, that once
were statues; dreams, that were reali-
ties.
Something of this feeling carried over
to the deserted library. left lying there
with the eastern light streaming in the
windows, sending strange glares over
the shelves, with their books piled high
"A great diary contains the diary OF
the human race some one has said
1t holds more than that. 1t contains
the dreams and aspirations of men and
women, the best purposes OF the human
soul, bound between covers for all who
will to read.
There is sadness in a library, espe-
cially a deserted library, as well as the
happiness OF lnttHSctual PURSUITS. Much
as one has to be fitted to enjoy golf
or bob shedding, so the user of libraries
needs to have liking for books.
l cannot imagine more miserable
pen, for one who does not care for
books, than a library. To such a man
the place of books would be worse than
a prison. because il would be to him
a reproach.
Those silent volumes would stand
there, seeming to say to him, Dumb
bell, what doeth thou here? Disturb not
my dusty covers: HE thee away to the
parlors where the billiard cue is in its
heydey, or thence to the busy halls of
the dance.
There thy nimble feet will follow
those of thy Dumb Dora and thou wilt
be happy there. But here both thy soul
and mine-for books have souIs-are i'll
at ease, as Is the mind of the man who
knows nothing but coal when he meets
one who loves nothing but music. Hence.
away, idle creature, what doeth thou
here?''
To the friend of books. however, the
volumes speak a different language
The sensitive ear can hear them saying:
''Ah, friend, welcome herei When
the librarian Is away, the books will
play. We are not all staid and musty,
as that comical fellow, Dumb Bell