Creating the library habit by such methods: by putting the library in the way of the public and making it a familiar and consuetudinal part of the environment; pervading the civic fabric and injecting itself into the daily life of the citizen, is one thing. It is a very great and glorious thing. To the multitude it has opened new channels of relaxation, of stimulation, of mental growth and moral adjustment. Its possibilities have not been overstated even by the librarian himself. And on the day when librarians discovered the means and perfected the methods which set the library in that commanding and strategic position, on that day they set themselves in their rightful place as public educators and added a powerful impulse to that divine momentum by which humanity is being driven forward toward the goal of perfection which must be its destiny. But creating the reading habit--well, is that quite the same thing? And if it be not quite the same thing, are librarians still concerned as much as formerly with promoting the generation of the reading habit as a part--say the lesser half--of their task? And if librarians are so concerned, are they--are we--using the most effective methods to advance that part of our task? And is advertising the library just the same thing as advertising the books? It is by the consideration of these questions that I hope to expound my text and deal with the topic assigned to me. The library habit is akin to the museum habit, the public conservatory habit and the menagerie habit, and differs from the reading habit as visits to these institutions differ from cultivating your own garden patch or rearing your own pets. Perhaps the logical conclusion of these comparisons would seem to be that one must own one's books, but happily one does not have to own a book's body in order to possess its soul. Our present library machinery is admirably adapted to the nurture of the library habit. Open shelves, book display racks, branches in which all visible barriers and restrictions have become as obsolete as the "keep off the grass" signs in the parks, all these invite the promiscuous and profuse handling of books, the sipping and skipping, the skimming and returning for more. Our card catalogs with their stern noncommittalness and deadly monotony make it necessary for the reference patron to call for whole armfuls of books which he fumbles hastily, scouring the index and tables of contents, and laying them aside for the next dip into the grab bag. Our monthly bulletins, presenting in serried ranks the accessions of the month, severely marshalled by the rules of the decimal classification, and with one title closely followed by the next, so that the roaming eye is constantly caught by new and ever more attractive possibilities for skipping and skimming--what could be devised more effectively to promote that species of gluttony which is indicated by long lists of call numbers of books which we simply must see before next month's