The boys and girls who are growing up in libraries where story-telling is a part of the weekly routine, at thirteen or fourteen are beginning to feel a little too old to listen to fairy tales or King Arthur legends, and look towards the unexplored delights of the grown-up shelves. Many librarians are taking advantage of this desire for new and interesting books to form boys' and girls' clubs with definite objects. One whom I know after a training with large numbers of children in a city branch library, became librarian in a manufacturing town where there were no boys' clubs, and soon formed a Polar Club, for reading about Arctic exploration. She was fortunate in having an audience hall in the library building, and before the end of the winter the boys had engaged Fiala, the Antarctic explorer, to give a lecture, sold tickets and more than cleared expenses. This, be it remembered, is in a town with no regular theatre or amusement hall, and the librarian is young, enthusiastic, and of attractive personality. The branch libraries in Cleveland have been successful in their clubs, and in back numbers of the Library Journal and Public Libraries, you will find records of organizations of young folk who meet out of library hours, under parliamentary rules, for more or less definite courses of reading. For the reason that the experiments are in print and easily accessible, I shall merely give you a record of my own book-talks at entirely informal meetings. Long ago, before there were library schools, Harlan H. Ballard, now librarian of the Pittsfield Athenaeum, used St. Nicholas as the organ of the Agassiz Association, which had been in existence for several years with about a hundred members in Berkshire County. The Association grew and soon had chapters all over the world. In the number of St. Nicholas for December, 1881, I find the record of ours, and the name of the first secretary, then a boy of ten or twelve years, now a prominent citizen, a member of the Board of Park Commissioners and School Visitors. We used to go out of doors looking for birds and insects through the spring and fall, and meet in the library in winter for reading from authors like John Burroughs, Dr. C. C. Abbott and Frank Buckland, or the lives of Thomas Edward, Robert Dick, Agassiz and other naturalists, or sometimes a story from a grown-up magazine like one of Annie Trumbull Slosson's or an account of real pets like Frank Bolles's owls. The children in "A. A. Chapter B" all had good homes, good vocabularies and reading fathers and mothers, and listened with interest to books that are far in advance of the children of their age who began to come to the library after it was made public. The chapter lived long enough to admit the children of at least one of its original members, and only died because Saturday morning, the only morning in the week when children are free, had important business engagements for the