What a place it is!
Mention some very rare curiosity of a peculiar nature--a something
which you have read about somewhere but never seen--they show you a
dozen! They show you all the possible varieties of that thing!
They show you curiously wrought jeweled necklaces of beaten gold,
worn by the ancient Egyptians, Assyrians, Etruscans, Greeks,
Britons--every people of the forgotten ages, indeed. They show you
the ornaments of all the tribes and peoples that live or ever did
live. Then they show you a cast taken from Cromwell's face in
death; then the venerable vase that once contained the ashes of
Xerxes.
I am wonderfully thankful for the British Museum. Nobody comes
bothering around me--nobody elbows me--all the room and all the
light I want, under this huge dome--no disturbing noises--and people
standing ready to bring me a copy of pretty much any book that ever
was printed under the sun--and if I choose to go wandering about the
long corridors and galleries of the great building the secrets of
all the earth and all the ages axe laid open to me. I am not
capable of expressing my gratitude for the British Museum--it seems
as if I do not know any but little words and weak ones.