ts contents and their uses, and of the conditions and value of
such uses, are limited and crude. The advertising that succeeds in
bettering this state of things is surely doing an economic service. All
these things the self-respecting citizen should know. But beyond and above
all this there is the final economic service of advertising--the causing a
man to want that which he needs but does not yet desire. Every man, woman
and child in every town and village needs books in some shape, degree,
form or substance. And yet the proportion of those who desire them is yet
outrageously small, though encouragingly on the increase. Here no
memorizing of a formula, even could we compass it, could suffice. This
kind of advertising means the realization of something lacking in a life.
Is the awakening of such a realization too much for us? Are we to stand by
and see our neighbors all about us awakening to the undoubted fact that
they need telephones in their houses, and electric runabouts, and
mechanical fans in hot weather, and pianolas, and new kinds of breakfast
food, while we despair of awakening them to their needs of books--quite as
undoubted? Are we to admit that personal gain, which was the victorious
motive that spurred on the commercial advertisers in these and countless
other instances, is to be counted more mighty than the desire to do a
service to our fellowmen and to fulfill the duties of our positions--which
should spur us on?

I am not foolish enough to suppose that by placarding the fences with the
words "Books! Books!" as the patent medicine man does with "Curoline!
Curoline!" we shall make any progress. The patent medicine man is right;
he wants to excite curiosity and familiarize the public with the name of
his nostrum. They all know what a book is--and alas the name is not even
unknown and mysterious--would that it were! It calls up in many minds
associations which, if we are to be successful we must combat, overthrow,
and replace by others. To many--sad it is to say it--a book is an
abhorrent thing; to more still, it is a thing of absolute indifference. To
some a book is merely a collection of things, having no ascertainable
relationships, that one is required to memorize; to others it is a
collection of statements, difficult to understand, out of which the
meaning must be extracted by hard study; to very few indeed does the book
appear to be what it really is--a message from another mind. People will
go to a sea