and plain and manifestly adapted to the purpose for which it is designed, it can not well escape the attributes of dignity, and, to the reasoning observer, of beauty. The magnificent pile, to which architect and trustee can point the casual passer-by with pride, which may awe the taxpayer into forgetfulness of the contractor's bills, this has no excuse. It comes, and it promises to come often; but it is permitted by the populace in momentary forgetfulness of the public library's excuse and function, not in reasoned belief in the utility of bibliothecal palaces.
The free public library building, large or small—and of the college, university, or reference library the same may be said—so constructed as to serve thoroughly well the purposes for which it is intended, exists in theory only. It may be possible to find in this country a few small libraries in which an honest attempt has been made, with moderate success, to grapple with the library building problem. In the vast majority of cases such light as experience in library administration is able to throw on the question of the proper internal arrangement of a library building—the proper distribution of expenditure in securing room, light, ventilation, and workableness—has been simply ignored. Arguments drawn from utility, from comfort of readers and borrowers, and from economy of administration, have been set aside. Full rein often, the loose rein always, has been given to trustees' and architects' desires for architectural effect. This is the more strange because certain principles of library construction are well understood and are no longer matters for debate.
Convenient, economical, effective administration of a library calls for greater ease of access and facility of communication in the building used than does any other form of business, be it industrial, commercial, official, administrative, or religious. And this need for ease and speed in intercommunication increases rather than diminishes with the increase in the size of the library, and in the number of its patrons. Illustrations of how this general principle of library construction has been ignored may be easily found. To note the Newberry Library in Chicago and the Boston Public Library is here sufficient. Compare the accommodation possible for the busy and impatient patron—and the busy and impatient patron is one of the patrons the modern library should especially strive to serve—in these ill-adapted structures with that possible, with a few quite minor changes, in the modern tall office building, and the point is made clear at once. The whole monumental style of library architecture is almost of necessity the greatest of handicaps on library administration. It may be said, of course, that it is sometimes advisable to erect first a noble monument, then to make out of it as good a library as its monumental character permits. Granted. But it should be thoroughly understood,
