SOME INTERESTTING AND SUGGESTIYT EXPERIENCES IN A GERMAN LIBRARY.

It is quite surprising to see what great advantages a student at one of our great universities enjoys in regard to the use of libraries. We are very much inclined to complain of not having the necessary facilities in this direction, but comparison, which teaches so many things, may also teach as to be quite contented with our lot. While staying in Berlin for a few months, I had occasion to get some books out of the Royal Library. Not being a matriculated student, I had tremendous difficulty in getting the necessary permission from one of those demigods - an assistant librarian. When I had gained this point, I proceeded to look about in a dingy, dark, low ceilinged room, for something in the line of a catalogue. I searched every corner and every cranny without success, and finally fearing that I might be suspected of being a Socialist, I roused my courage, walked up to a desk and asked very politely where I could find a catalogue. The mighty man, sitting behind the desk, tightly fitted into a military coat, raised his head, looked at me sharply, smiled haughtily, and informed me that the catalogue was reserved for the private use of the librarian! "But," said I, "you must have a card-catalogue for reference, have you not?" He took it as an insult, and I made the best of my way to the door. Utterly disgusted, I went home, copied down the exact title of the book I wished to have, and returned to the library. On trying the door, I found it locked. A placard informed me that the library is open for the delivery of books from 10-12 a. m. only! And we grumble about ours closing "half an hour before sunset."

Next day I tried again, and was rather successful, as will be seen shortly. My interest in the book began to lag, but I was bound to get it. After having handed in my slip in due form, I waited for five, ten, fifteen minutes, and yet no book came. The official behind the desk eyed me more and more suspiciously, and, growing rather uneasy under his paralyzing gaze, I asked, meekly enough, how long I should have to wait: "Oh, is that what you want? Why, you cannot have the book before to-morrow at noon." I fell back, mournfully bent my head, and went away. The next day found me in a line of some thirty fellow-mortals, waiting to reach the desk. When I arrived there, wearied, exhausted and hungry, my slip was returned to me with the word "out" written in bloody letters upon it. This is a true tale of how things are managed in a library which contains more than 500,000 volumes. No order, no catalogue, excepting volume upon volume of written memoranda which in themselves cover many shelves, opens a way for the student to so much wisdom. Nobody seems to know where to look for the books, and the poor library boy doesn't wear the hale and hearty look of our little red-haired friend. Sent out after a book at 12 on Monday, he arrives panting, fagged out, pale and haggard at 11.45 on Tuesday.

This miserable system, or rather this miserable lack of system, prevails in all the German universities in a greater or less degree, according to the size of the libraries. And yet the German student lives and learns and becomes the famous philologist, or the famous scientist, whose works are kept in our American libraries at the disposal of everybody. He knows and cares for nothing better, and it were cruel indeed to tell him how much more favored we Americans are. "Where ignorance is bliss, etc.

'88.