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1' * * MUSIC I HEARD By Conrad Aiken Music I heard with you was more than music, And bread I broke with you was more than bread; _ Now that I am without you, all is desolate; All that was once so beautiful is dead. Your hands once touched this table and this silver. I And I have seen your fingers hold this glass. These things do nor remember you, beloved, And yet your touch upon them will not pass. For it was in my heart you moved among them, _ And blessed them with yOut hands and With your eyes; And in my heart they will remember alwaysâ€"e They knew you once, 0 beautiful and Wise. * t 'k consuming joe-jobs of cataloguing, pasting in bookâ€"pockets and plates, patching up old volâ€" umes. These routine tasks will be done at headquarters more efficiently and economicâ€" ally. The book purchasing will go through the central office, for books, like others things, are “cheaper by the dozen." With a larger budget the librarian is going to find that betterâ€"bound books last longer; that cheap editions are often unreadable; that most cutâ€"rate books aren't worth even that price. She will still choose titles and accept borrowers” requests. Book buying and techni- cal book purchases beyond her scope will channel through headquarters and she’ll get her books on the library shelves in double quick time. You see, a centralized library has all the oftâ€"debated virtues of the consolidated school without its chief drawback of distance. Here the books take bus to your crossroads. Unfortunately, too many libraries try to build on too small a base. A population of 10,000 is an economic figure. These libraries take in a village, say, when a far more effiâ€" cient unit would be one or more townships, the entire county. 01' a whole region. That’s the newest trend in Ontario. The Pro- vincial Library Service has pencilled in eleven regions, including those large districts in nor- thern Ontario. (Many of these are bigger than any European country.) The larger unit whit- tles costs and increases the mileage on every book. Who’s to explain all the details? The Provincial Library Service, 278 Darlen- port Road. Toronto, has the answers. Director William A. Roedde has had wide experience in rural library service, with Fort William as his base. Or there’s Barbara Smith who spe- cializes in children’s library work. Or June Munro, recently appointed Supervisor of Ex- 36 tension Service after several years with the Canadian Library Association in Ottawa. Miss Munro has had a variety of library experience in Ontario, beginning as a high school Page in‘the Sault Ste. Marie Prihlic Library. She attended Library School. idler worked with children in the London Public Library and Leaside. On loan from London, Miss Munro set up the Ajax Public Library and that’s the sort of work she’s doing mw‘ on a provincial scale. It takes a lot of letter writing and travuahng around, a lot of reading, to keep abrcas- or her subject. It calls for tact and patient ;0 deal with trustees who fear their autonon.‘ ,9 slipping, and with local librarians who su; ‘ ,i that progress will push them out into the cm It‘s to help the librarians in small On :0 libraries that short courses in library s.:_ _c are held in various parts of the Prom. c. That, too, is part of Miss Munro‘s nen h, But you have to ask for them. Like Cu ‘y Libraries, like increased grants, no one is - ing them on you. Impetus for any increase in library l- l ities must come from the people who foot the bill. Women’s Institutes have enough experience in co-operativcs to l. that co-operation doesn’t always come a5 peaceably. Larger library units do make sense anc returns are happily far out of proportior a the invastment, Reading is still the key it- formation and entertainment, to incre il awareness, and to new friends both in and ll of books. ( ._. ‘k ‘k * TWILIGHT By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow The twilight is sad and cloudy, The wind blows wild and free, And like the wings of seaâ€"birds Flash the white caps of the sea. But. in the fisherman's cottage There shines a ruddier light, And a little face at the window Peers out into the night. Close, close it is pressed to the window. As if those childish eyes Were looking into the darkness, To see some form arise. And a woman's waving shadow Is passing to and fro, Now rising to the ceiling, Now bowing and bending low. What tale do the roaring ocean, And the night-wind, bleak and wild, As they beat at the crazy casement, Tell to that little child? And why do the roaring ocean, And the night-wind, wild and bleak, As they beat at the heart of the mother, Drive the colour from her cheek? * * * HOME AND COUNTRY