Quiet as he was in many ways, he was of a social disposition, a trait which found an outlet to some extent at the Library Association, of which he was a councillor from 1890 to 1911; but for closer purposes of camaraderie he founded, with Mr Jast, the well-known Pseudonyms, a dining-club of librarians and their friends, which had its origin in the ‘nineties, and flourished for many years. The meetings were held in various Bohemian restaurants in Soho, professional and literary topics were debated, and Brown reported them in The Library World. The reports had little relation to the actual proceedings, and few people were more entertained, and, incidentally, astonished at their own wittiness (as reported) than the Pseudonyms themselves. This is but one instance of his humorous way of regarding all things. In conversation, and in writing of even the most dryasdust subjects, it seemed impossible for him to talk or write without humour.

Brown’s sixteen years at Clerkenwell made the library perhaps the most reputed in the country. Mr Jast may be quoted upon this: “Mr Brown’s influence and reputation extended far beyond his own country. Foreign librarians visiting London almost invariably made for two places; one was the large and handsome room overlooking a stately west-end square, which Mr J. Y. W. MacAlister occupied for so many years; and the other was a small room, high up in a rather dingy-looking triangular building, overlooking a dingier street in Clerkenwell, which was so hidden away that one rather stumbled upon it than found it, where Mr J. D. Brown worked in his official capacity as Librarian, before he was called to a sphere more worthy of his labours, in Islington. How many librarians, how many members of library committees, how many workers in the Library movement have been charmed, interested, and instructed in these two rooms?” Not only was he required to give advice in his own country; at different times he was called upon to lecture on “free public libraries” in the United States, in Holland and in Belgium. “A Bruxelles,” writes M. Paul Otlet, “il parla devant l’auditore du Musée du Livre et son succès fut très grand.” I cannot help thinking that his success depended more upon his subject and his clear writing than upon his speaking; he was on the whole an indifferent speaker, his nervousness was painful to himself and others, and his ineradicable Glasgow accent was a real obstacle. He told my wife that the only place in which he enjoyed speaking was the meetings of the Islington Staff Club; he confessed to a horror and nervousness in public speech.

In 1904 he was appointed the first Borough Librarian of Islington. Here the public libraries scheme had its very beginnings under his care, and he was responsible for the interior design of the fine central library and the north and west branches; probably also for the south-east branch, but of that I am not sure. These libraries, I dare affirm, represented the highest achievement in library-planning in this country, with their handsome, adequate and practical rooms, economy in working, and general suitableness for their purpose. Here he brought into practice two of his principal innovations. The first was the Subject Classification, a huge, minute scheme, which we describe in more detail in the later pages of this book, which challenged comparison with the great and more popular American schemes in its completeness, logical arrangement, and admirable notation. Its focus upon British requirements made it specially attractive to British librarians, and although it may never supersede the more universal Decimal System of Melvil Dewey, it is nevertheless a work of the greatest value to all librarians. The second and more revolutionary innovation was the exclusion of the newsroom as usually understood from the libraries. In his account of his visit to America, he mentioned with something approaching disapproval the absence of this department from American libraries and the sense of desertion which resulted there; but at Islington he adopted the American plan. I am told that the Islington public did not approve the omission quite as much as did its author, but the arguments he used for it were common-sense ones, although he has had few, if any, British imitators.

To give in detail all his work for Islington would be to occupy a disproportionate space in a memoir of this compass. Suffice it to say that he provided this not entirely grateful Borough with a system which is the admiration of our profession. He gathered round him an accomplished staff, published a model select catalogue, encouraged the formation of an excellent staff guild for his assistants, and did many other invaluable things. He had long been a teacher of young librarians. When the Library Association courses were inaugurated at the London School of Economics he became the lecturer in library organization and routine, and served in that capacity for many years. As one of his students, I can vouch for his conscientious, painstaking teaching, his care in clearing up difficulties, the encouraging and friendly way in which he answered our questions, marked our exercises, and generally made our work of interest and value. No librarian who turned to him for advice ever went unhelped, whatever his age or school of thought. He wrote hundreds of letters to such purpose in his beautiful minute handwriting, and a collection of these would form, I believe, an excellent journal of contemporary librarianship. He seemed, in particular, to have a minute knowledge of all librarians and library assistants, their capacities and work accomplished. His obvious sympathy with young assistants first drew many of us to him. From the day I met him in 1896 at Bournemouth to his death he showed me by constant signs his regard for younger men and women who had a real interest in the work that he himself loved. He treated us with equal consideration in his correspondence, and the youngest correspondent received the same courtesy as his elders. He drafted the constitution of the Library Assistants’ Association, which with slight modifications has proved most wise and successful; and he frequently, especially in his last years, attended the meetings of this Association, taking part in the discussions when invited to do so, but seldom intruding his opinions unasked upon his young listeners, who, be it remarked, were always eager to hear him.

It is a difficult task to sketch “the man in his habit as he lived,” but a few words may be written. The portrait which forms our frontispiece is almost life-like, with its thoughtful, quiet, and, if one looks carefully enough, intent and humorous face. In person he was small, but not too obviously so; fragile-looking, but yet compact and vital in appearance and movement; he had brown hair and beard, delicate features, deft and supple hands; he thought calmly, was a rapid, consistent, and persevering worker; what he began he finished. His writings have been pronounced by Dr E. A. Baker to possess unmistakable quality, although “he scoffed at the word ‘style’ as denoting some futile kind of verbal legerdemain” (I think he must have done so jokingly, as his own personal library showed that he was by no means blind to the qualities of literary expression). “Shrewd, practical common sense, rough on cranks and sentimentalists, unmerciful to muddlers, impervious to a good many ideas, but a steady assertor of those he had tried and approved--this was the stuff of Brown’s writing,” is Dr Baker’s estimate, and in the main it coincides with my own. His personal tastes may be inferred from his work. “He once told me,” writes Mr Aldred, “he knew three subjects only, viz., library economy, music, and Scotland. I forget the order in which he placed them. Being a Scotsman, probably Scotland came first. In many respects, however, J. D. B.’s knowledge was of the encyclopædic order--he appeared to know a little of any subject named.”

In early life he was pronounced to be consumptive, but he told me, “I have lived to see the doctors who condemned me in their graves,” by careful living, and probably by sheer will power. But in his later years he had to meet many difficulties at Islington, where the libraries became the sport of a political party and he had a committee which was unable to assess his powers. It is useless to revive this now, but it probably helped to bring about his early death. He first became seriously ill in 1911, and with a few intervals, when we believed him to be practically himself again, he gradually weakened. In the last few months of his life a stay at Bournemouth was tried as a final resource, and here he read musical biography assiduously and maintained the keenest outlook upon all things; but no improvement ensued in his health, and he returned to London a dying man. The end came at his house, 15, Canonbury Park South, Islington, on 26th February 1914; and he was buried, amid every sign of regret and affection, at New Southgate Cemetery. His only memorial to the present are his works; I believe they will be an enduring one.