matter. He may simply point out to the reader that there are other books
on the same subject, written from different points of view, and he may
direct attention to these, letting the reader draw his own conclusions.
There is probability that the public library in the future will furnish
information and guidance of this kind about books, more than it has done
in the past.

And here it may be noted in passing that the library is coming out of its
shell. It no longer holds itself aloof, taking good care of its books and
taking little care of the public that uses them. It is coming to realize
that the man and the book are complementary, that neither is much without
the other, and that to bring them together is its duty. It realizes also
that a book is valuable, not because it is so much paper and ink and
thread and leather, but because it records and preserves somebody's ideas.
It is the projection of a human mind across space and across time and
where it touches another human mind those minds have come into contact
just as truly and with as valuable results as if the bodies that held them
stood face to face in actual converse. This is the miracle of written
speech--a miracle renewed daily in millions of places with millions of
readers.

We have, in the modern library, the very best way of perpetuating such
relations as this and of ensuring that such as are preserved shall be
worth preserving. When the ancients desired to make an idea carry as far
as possible, they saw to the toughness and strength of the material object
constituting the record; they cut it in stone or cast it in metal,
forgetting that all matter is in a state of continual flux and change; it
is the idea only that endures. Stone and metal will both one day pass away
and unless some one sees fit to copy the inscription on a fresh block or
tablet, the record will be lost. It is, then, only by continual renewal of