As a matter of course, Burford has a Public Library of its own. The Corporation had a chance of acquiring a library that had been in existence for some years: it had been built as a memorial to her husband by a wealthy lady in the neighbourhood, and it contained several thousand volumes of the “improving” sort which were so much in favour with fathers and mothers and uncles and aunts—in fact, with all manner of people except readers—fifty or sixty years ago. For purposes of a public library such a collection is absurd, and should have been consigned to one of the Corporation's rubbish carts without delay, together with its Encyclopaedias dated 1812. The books were, however, allowed to encumber the shelves, and there they remain unto this day, to assist in the culture of much that would interest an earnest bacteriologist. To the majority of the members of the Corporation, however, “a book's a book although there's nothing in it,” and their “library” is packed with books and bacteria, both happily undisturbed for years.

Some time ago a charwoman with a husband was required to sweep the floors and put the daily papers in their proper frames, and so the Corporation advertised for a “librarian” and his wife, mentioning the “salary” at fifty pounds a year. But they did not add, as they might have done, “no knowledge of books required,” and the consequence was that at the annual meeting of the Library Association the distinguished President referred to the advertisement with disparaging comments in respect of the “salary” offered to the “librarian.” It was not likely that such a reflection upon the liberality of the Corporation of Burford would be allowed to go to the world with impunity, so a member who considered himself responsible for the advertisement and the fixing of the renumeration wrote to the papers, pointing out that caretaker's rooms were granted to the “librarian” in addition to his “salary,” so that the Corporation were really munificent in their offer; but whether they were so or not, they could get plenty of people to discharge the duties of “librarian” on the conditions set down.

He was quite right. The applicants for the coveted post were numerous. They represented all the out-of-work men in the neighbourhood. Porters, jobbing gardeners, discharged soldiers with the rank of private, and the usual casuals applied, and the most eligible of these seemed to be an ex-soldier: “We should do all we can for old army men,” said one of the Committee very properly, and so the old soldier stood at attention, saluted, and became a “librarian.” The ability of the Corporation of Burford must be admired: they can make any man a librarian in five minutes; though the general opinion that prevails on the subject is that long years of careful training are needed to qualify even a man of good education for the post of librarian!

That is where the management of a matter that makes no appeal to the illiterate becomes a farce in the hands of such a body. What they wanted was a charwoman with a husband, not a librarian with a wife; but with traditional pomposity they must needs advertise for a “librarian” with a “salary.” So far as I can gather, the caretaker can sweep out a library with any man; but if you ask for any particular book—well, he does his best. But a man may be an adept with brooms and yet a tyro with books. He is another of the things that are not what they seem at Burford.