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I HAVE had a soft spot for the Bibliotheca Britannica ever since Ronald Benge recounted to us, his students of historical bibliography at the Northwestern Polytechnic, the tribulations of the compiler, Dr Robert Watt, during the final stages of that great work.

Candida Shallow: What are you doing, Daddy?

I FREQUENTLY HAVE the privilege of visiting the household of Robert Shallow, and I find pleasure in the robust chatter, only half‐humorous nostalgia, intellectual stimulus and good red biddy which he and his charming wife dispense joyfully to the weary traveller. 1 like bouncing around with the dear children, though I usually break my glasses. There is a price to pay. The red biddy has its effects, too, I notice, as I grow older.

THE RESULTS of the investigation into NEW LIBRARY WORLD readers' interests and requirements, initiated by the Editorial Board some four years ago, show that the percentage of subscribers reading The Shallow end slumped from several, to a whole number, down to .011 during that time.

IN REPLY to Clive Bingley's oblique enquiry (NLW May 1978) I can tell him that I am not Ken Hornsby, the author of a forthcoming Robert Hale ‘pot‐boiler’ entitled Is that the library speaking? Clive's well‐known aversion to the Post Office and his determination to deny it, except in extreme circumstances, the sale of a stamp or two minutes local telephone time, must be hardening with the years. However, inter‐columnar correspondence, though a little slower, is surer—and it does help to fill a few inches.

Pseudonymous writing is not the most popular offering in library literature at the present time. Recent comments in this journal include: ‘braying like an ass’; ‘malicious, humourless direction of paper darts’ and ‘the cowardly, hit‐and‐run tactics of the anonymous scribe’. Robert Shallow is not listed in the LA yearbook and, if he exists, he certainly is not writing this column. So, here's another pseudonymous scribbler.

READERS of this column will acknowledge that there are few observers around these days more disinterested, or hollow, than Shallow. This not only guarantees unbiased commentaries on this page, but should also ensure that no‐one is offended—which is now our sublime object.

THE first Shallow end appeared in February 1972 and this is my one‐hundredth. Arithmeticians and those of you with electronic gadgets may compute a greater total of New library world issues since that date (and if you make it 104 you're right); but, in 1977 I had a sod‐it‐all spell (or ‘brief sabbatical’ as cb prefers to call it) and in the December 1976 issue, John Fines wrote the column under the heading ‘Deep down he's really Shallow’—a scurrilous piece which would have landed him in court but for my magnanimity. (True, he was drunk at the time of composing it, but it was my gin he'd been slurping to get that way, so I should have sued him for some‐thing.) Howsoever, this really is the one‐hundredth Shallow—or the century of the very common man, as you might say.

In the 1940s the teams of the BBC's Transatlantic quiz included such formidable intellectuals as Thomas Bodkin, Christopher Morley and Denis Brogan; and once they were joined by David Niven. On that occasion it was almost midway through the programme before the London questionmaster said with obvious surprise and relief:

In future, the Secretary of the Library Association will be known as the Secretary‐General, it was decided at the Council meeting on November 2. Professor Keith Harris said that if his secretary rang someone with the title of secretary, she would expect that person to take shorthand notes, and Godfrey Thompson said that a secretary was a clerical officer of fairly low standing. LAR 81 (11) November 1979.