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After such an inspiring address by Sir Edward Boyle and the brilliant lecture by Lord Verulam I am really left rather breathless and I expect your capacity for taking any more is almost negligible.

1950, the centenary year of public libraries, now with us, must be a year of intense interest to all who read THE LIBRARY WORLD. Preparations have been made by the Library Association on very generous lines for its celebration. We have our Royal Charter, and now we have the privilege of the Consort of the Heir to the Throne as our President. What is more, H.M. the King has become our Patron. Who shall think meanly of librarians and their work hereafter? No longer, too, shall librarians think meanly of themselves. The writer of this month's Letters on Our Affairs, with some of which we may not entirely agree, is surely right in his assertion that the profession “is arriving.”

Life studies are a rich source for further research on the role of the Afro‐American woman in society. They are especially useful to gain a better understanding of the Afro‐American experience and to show the joys, sorrows, needs, and ideals of the Afro‐American woman as she struggles from day to day.

ONE MUST BEGIN with Dickens. A chapter by Christopher Hibbert in Charles Dickens, 1812–1870: centenary volume, edited by E. W. F. Tomlin, and The London of Charles Dickens, published by London Transport with aid from the Dickens Fellowship, make a similar study here superfluous; both are illustrated, the latter giving instructions for reaching surviving Dickensian buildings. Neither warns the reader of Dickens's conscious and unconscious imaginative distortion, considered in Humphrey House's The Dickens World. Dickens himself imagined Captain Cuttle hiding in Switzerland and Paul Dombey's wild waves saying ‘Paris’; ‘the association between the writing and the place of writing is so curiously strong in my mind.’ Author and character may be in two places at once. ‘I could not listen at my fireside, for five minutes to the outer noises, but it was borne into my ears that I was dead.’ (Our Mutual Friend)