attainments, and who is specially acquainted with, and devoted to,
museum work, and who might also be one of the teachers, if too much of
his time is not so occupied. But, as he is not likely to have special
knowledge of more than one branch of natural history, the teachers of
the other branches represented in the museum would probably each give
advice and assistance with regard to his own department. It is also
probable that some of the boys may be sufficiently interested in the
work to render valuable aid in collecting and preparing specimens.
If ethnographical, archæological, historical, or art collections be also
part of the general museum scheme, they should be kept quite distinct
from the natural history collections, preferably in another room.
Above all things, let the following words of Agassiz be remembered: “The
value of a museum does not consist so much in the number as in the order
and arrangement of the specimens contained in it.”
V
BOYS’ MUSEUMS[9]
It is a strange and interesting fact in human nature that among
thousands of boys who do not take the slightest interest in anything
pertaining to what is commonly called “Natural History,” there are here
and there, at all events among all cultivated nations, some few to whom
it is an absorbing passion, affording more delight than anything else in
life. Very often this is only a passing phase, affecting boys chiefly
between the ages of fourteen and sixteen, and then entirely dying away,
but with some it persists through life, materially modifying the whole
course of existence. This curious condition of mind, or “idiosyncrasy”
as physicians call it, is not confined to particular races or nations;
the Japanese have it as well as Europeans and Americans. Nor is it
limited to any particular position in the social or educational scale.
No one could have had it in a more intense form than the poor Scotch
shoemaker, Thomas Edward, child of some of the humblest people of the
land, whose biography by Samuel Smiles I presume all readers of this
magazine are acquainted with. On the other hand, there have been few
keener naturalists and collectors than the late Crown Prince Rudolf of
Austria, and in England at the present time few, if any, can yield in
this respect to the heir of the wealthy house of Rothschild, the owner
of the finest private zoological museum in the world.
One great peculiarity of this condition of mind is that, though it does
occasionally run in families, more often it arises as it were
spontaneously in one member of a family, without any inherited
predisposition or any external circumstance, as far as is known, leading
to it. Indeed, it is often most strongly developed when the
circumstances seem most adverse, and where no encouragement whatever has
been given to pursue it. I am especially in a position to become
acquainted with all the symptoms of what I may call this affection, as
from my official position fathers and mothers of boys attacked by it
continually consult me as to how the inclination or passion for natural
history should be treated in view of the future career of the
boy--whether it should be peremptorily suppressed, or whether and in
what direction it should be developed, and above all, what are the
prospects of its leading to obtaining a livelihood. Having a strong
sympathy with boys of such tastes, I have generally availed myself of
the opportunity of a little talk with them, and have given them such
advice as seemed best in the particular case. As to natural history as
the regular occupation of one who has no other means of living, I have
little to say that is favourable, as it is about the worst paid and
least appreciated of all professions. The only thing that I can say for
it is that the prospects are brightening, surely if slowly, both in
Europe and America. It is, I firmly believe, a profession of the future.
The only way to judge of what is coming is to look back at the past, and
note the changes that have been recently and are still taking place. The
opportunities for pursuing natural history with some sort of
remuneration, small as they are, are undoubtedly greater now than they
were twenty or thirty years ago.
With the general spread of education, lectureships, demonstratorships,
and curatorships are every year becoming more numerous, and there is no
reason to suppose that this excellent state of things will not continue.
But still, before advising any one to take up natural history as a
profession, I must be convinced of his really intense and abiding
interest in the subject, and of his zeal and determination to pursue it
at whatever sacrifice of ease or comfort, his readiness “to scorn
delights and live laborious days” in fact. Some boys seem to be so
devoted to it as to be incapable of applying themselves to anything
else. If this is really the case, I generally advise parents to let
them go on if possible, giving them the best education in the subject
that is available, and letting them take their chance of obtaining an
appointment when they are fit for one. The difficulty with such cases is
that to pursue natural history with any chance of profit in these days a
considerable knowledge of other subjects, especially modern languages,
is absolutely indispensable. The continually-increasing amount of
scientific literature which must be taken account of in every branch of
natural history has much changed the conditions of study required for
it, as has also the growing tendency to give appointments solely on the
results of competitive examination. In no case would I discourage the
taste altogether, but I more often advise some other means of making a
living, holding on to natural history as a recreation and relaxation. To
a soldier or sailor, for instance, a love of natural history is the
greatest possible blessing, and still more to the man of independent
fortune. They are often saved by it from all kinds of evil which want of
wholesome occupation engenders. Their life becomes a continuous delight,
instead of being a burden to themselves and others. Especially to those
mainly engaged in absorbing money-making pursuits, the refreshment of an
occasional excursion into the realms of nature need not be insisted on.
It is perfectly obvious to all who have ever had an opportunity of
observing it.
With an early love of natural history is almost always associated a love
of collecting, and probably there is no better way of becoming familiar
with a subject than by making a collection of objects illustrating it.
The value of all knowledge depends a great deal upon the amount of
labour and time spent in acquiring it. The easy methods of which we make
too much boast in the present day, handbooks, pictures, lectures,
well-arranged public museums, etc., have their drawbacks and snares as
well as their advantages. They are all helps if properly used, but they
will not supersede, and nothing will ever supersede, the downright hard
personal work by which all solid, lasting knowledge must be gained. The
value of making a collection of any kind of specimens about which you
wish to know something is that you are forced to spend time and thought
over them, to look at them, carefully to prepare them and compare them,
to arrange and name them. In proportion as a collection has had all this
done to it will be its value. That a museum depends for its utility, not
upon its contents, but upon the mode of arrangement of its contents, is
now a trite saying. An ill-arranged museum has been well compared to the
letters of the alphabet tossed about indiscriminately, meaning nothing;
a well-arranged one to the same letters placed in such orderly sequence
as to produce words of counsel and instruction. Far more, however, than
the intrinsic value of the collection, in the case of the beginner, is
its value as a means of education to the owner. The arrangement of a
collection not only teaches the nature and properties of the objects
contained in it; it also stimulates a desire to know more of the similar
objects not contained in it, but to be found in other and larger
collections. Still more important than this, as an educator, it calls
out many valuable practical qualities: originality, order, neatness,
perseverance, taste, power of discriminating small differences and
resemblances, all of which will be found useful in other spheres of
life.
It matters less what are the contents of a museum than that there should
be some definite object in bringing them together. To be a mere
“snapper-up of unconsidered trifles” is not forming a museum. The
subject chosen to be illustrated by the specimens collected should not
be of indefinite extent, but have some natural limit. This alone will
enable the collector to attain to the highest goal in the happiness of
his occupation: the filling in of all the vacant spaces when the
framework of his collection is completed. The richer a series is, the
greater joy there is in adding to it what still remains wanting. Limits
to collections of natural history objects are of two kinds. Either a
particular natural group of animals or plants may be selected, as
shells, butterflies, mosses, seaweeds, etc., or any subdivision of these
great groups; or else the products of particular localities, preferably
of course that in which the collector lives, may only be regarded. A
combination of these two methods of limitation will generally lead to
the most manageable and profitable amateur museum. Suppose, for
instance, our young friend were to set himself the task of collecting
and preserving all the fossils or all the land and freshwater shells, or
all the birds’ eggs, or all the beetles, to be found within a radius,
say, of ten miles round his dwelling-place, what a fund of knowledge he
would acquire not only of the appearance of the individual specimens,
but of their natural surroundings and habits! And what delightful
rambles he would have in the open air, with eyes and ears intently
appreciative of all the varied beauties of the lovely world in which we
dwell, lost, unfortunately, to so many who pass through it with none of
these interests and pleasures!
Although a collection, with a definite object, of specimens obtained,
prepared, and arranged by one’s self is the ideal of a boy’s museum, I
do not say that the possession of a few miscellaneous articles, which
are sure to be given by kind friends as soon as the taste for possessing
them is recognised, may not sometimes be an advantage, especially as a
help in stimulating inquiry and knowledge. My first “museum” was, as I
recollect, very much of this nature. It was contained in a large, flat,
shallow box with a lid, and I made cardboard trays which filled and
fitted the bottom of the box, and kept the various specimens separate.
Everything was carefully labelled, and there was also a manuscript
catalogue in a copy-book. No boy should ever be allowed to keep any sort
of museum without a catalogue in which the history of every specimen and
the date at which it came into his possession are carefully entered.
When the box was outgrown it was superseded by a small cabinet with
drawers, then by a cupboard; but before I had left the parental home for
college, an entire small room was dignified by the name of my “museum.”
It was the love of curatorship which thus grew up within me, without the
remotest external influence or inherited predisposition towards it, as
none of my relatives had any interest in such pursuits, that determined
my after career, and led to such success as I have met with in it. My
boyish fondness for dissecting animals and preparing their skeletons at
that time could find no nearer outlet in any academic career than in the
pursuits of a medical student; and the anatomical museum of my college
was at first to me a much greater subject of interest than the wards of
the hospital--so much so in fact, that while still in my second year of
studentship the curatorship falling vacant, I was asked to undertake the
office. Here I was in my glory, and although later on the more practical
work of the surgical profession had its attractions also,--attractions
which at one time nearly carried me off into the stream of London
hospital practice,--I finally returned to the old love, and through a
succession of fortunate incidents, the museum under my care, instead of
the one little box with which I began, is now the largest, most
complete, and magnificently housed in the world.
I need hardly say that in all my subsequent career I have always looked
back at my early attempts at curatorial work with especial satisfaction.
The educational power of all work done when young can never be
overestimated. The sooner knowledge is acquired the more valuable it is.
You have it so much longer and it becomes so much more a part of
yourself. One of the first specimens I possessed was a little stuffed
bird with a brown back and white underneath, and a very short tail. I
saw it in the window of a pawnbroker’s shop in my native town,
Stratford-on-Avon. I often passed the shop, and looked at it with wonder
and admiration. At last I summoned up courage to ask its price. “Three
pence,” was the answer. This was a serious consideration; but the
financial difficulty being overcome, I carried the bird home in triumph.
Having access to a copy of Bewick’s _British Birds_, I identified it as
the dipper or water ousel, and even learnt its scientific name, _Cinclus
aquaticus_. It was wretchedly stuffed. Though more than fifty years have
passed since I saw it last, for during an absence at school, it, with
many other treasures, fell into places where “moth and rust do corrupt,”
its appearance is still fixed in my mind’s eye, with its hollow back and
crooked legs sticking out of impossible parts of its body; but I was not
then so critical as I have since become. My only reason for mentioning
it is because that bird became part of my permanent stock of
ornithological knowledge, and ever since, whether by a mountain stream
in the Highlands of Scotland, or a rocky river in the Harz or Thuringian
Forests in Germany, when I see a dipper flitting over the rushing water
or diving beneath the surface, it seems an old familiar friend of my
childhood.
Another specimen of which I have a very vivid recollection was labelled
in the handwriting of the kind donor, “Bone from Kirkdale Cave,
Yorkshire.” It was given to me by an old gentleman who lived in the
neighbourhood, and whose large collection of geological specimens was a
great delight to me to look over. It was a perfectly valueless fragment
from a scientific point of view, not having characters enough to
identify the animal to which it belonged, being little more in fact than
a chip from the surface of a long bone, of which thousands were found in
the cave. But it woke up a train of interest in me, leading to the whole
subject of caves and their bygone inhabitants, and the reading of
Buckland’s _Reliquiæ Diluvianæ_; while ever since Kirkdale Cave has
stood out among all other caves, with a sort of romantic halo conferred
upon it in my mind by the present of that fragment of bone with all its
early associations. These are only two instances out of any number I
could tell of the ways in which a boy’s museum may become a source of
knowledge and of interest that may last through life.
VI
ADDRESS AT THE OPENING OF THE BOOTH MUSEUM AT BRIGHTON[10]
We are assembled in a room that contains a collection in many respects
unequalled by any other in the world. In the first place, it has been
entirely the work of one man in a life of no great length,--he had only
reached the age of fifty when he died,--but who devoted an extraordinary
amount of energy and perseverance, and also expended a very considerable
amount of money, in making it as perfect as possible of its kind. You
must not suppose for a moment that Mr. Booth was the only man who ever
made a collection of British birds. Birds have always been favourites,
and the birds of our own islands, though far less remarkable for form,
size, and brilliancy of plumage than those of other lands, have for many
reasons been peculiarly attractive. The national pride which causes us
to love our countrymen better than foreigners includes birds as well as
other bipeds. It has, therefore, been the aim of many public museums, as
well as private lovers of natural history, to make as complete a
collection of British birds as possible. But it is one thing to have a
collection adapted and conveniently arranged for reference and study by
the learned ornithologist, or consisting of as many specimens as can be
crammed into the smallest space they could occupy, without regard to
their condition or their order, and quite another thing to have a
collection under such circumstances and so arranged as to convey the
fullest possible amount of information and instruction, and to excite
the greatest possible interest in the minds of those who, like the
majority of us, are not in a position to devote any large portion of
our scanty leisure to their study. For this latter purpose I have no
hesitation in saying it would be difficult to imagine a collection so
complete, and so admirably arranged and displayed, as the one in which
we are. I purposely avoid comparison with the beautiful series, showing
the nesting habits of birds, now being arranged in the National Museum
in London under the supervision of Dr. Günther, because the objects of
the two are in many respects different, as are also the methods in which
they have been carried out. We must recollect that this collection was
formed by one who was an intense lover of bird-life, one who spent the
greater part of his own life, night and day, summer and winter, in
watching their manners and actions in their native haunts, and who knew
from his own keen observation exactly what were their favourite
surroundings, what kind of soil or of rock, or of tree or of flower,
each species would be most likely to be found among or near. Most
collections contain only the birds themselves. Here we have not only
birds, but the home in which the birds dwelt, most carefully and
accurately reproduced, and on such a scale and in such a manner as has
never been done anywhere before. As for the birds themselves, not only
are they the finest and best specimens of their kind that could be
procured, and in many cases showing various stages of plumage, at
different ages and different seasons of the year, but far more care,
knowledge, and artistic skill has been expended on their mounting than
is generally the case either in museums or in private collections. The
art of taxidermy, though quite an old one in Europe, extending back
certainly three or four hundred years, has made very little progress
until very recent times, and even now, though there is so great a
development of nearly all branches of art, it has had far too little
attention bestowed upon it. Very few people seem to know the difference
between a really well-mounted bird or mammal and an inferior one, but
there is as much difference between them as between a picture of a lion
by Landseer or Rosa Bonheur, and a picture of the same animal depicted
by a village artist on the sign of a public-house. And yet so little do
people understand this, that they go on filling museums and collections
with wretched examples, and continue to pay the unfortunate bird-stuffer
a miserably inadequate sum for work which should be the work of a real
artist, and which can only be done by a man who not only has devoted
great care and attention to the subject, but has also the rare gift of
inborn genius. I am very critical, indeed, as you can see, on the
subject of bird-stuffing, and I am happy to be able to say, and every
time I enter this museum it strikes me more, that the greater number of
specimens in it, though, of course, they are unequal, are admirable
specimens of the art of taxidermy. Many of them are very fine indeed,
all are above the average, and I believe there is not a single bad one
among them. The collection is eminently adapted for public instruction.
If the advantages to be derived from it were only the momentary pleasure
of looking at it here, it would be of comparatively little account, but
if properly used it may be the means of spreading knowledge and interest
which will affect the whole course of some of our lives. We all have
cares and troubles enough in our passage through this world, and we are
so often brought into contact with so much that is mean, disagreeable,
and ugly, that we ought not, for our own sakes, as well as for the sakes
of those among whom we live, to neglect any sources of joy and gladness
that might be offered to us. The man who walks through life with his
eyes open to beauty, wherever it can be found, is by so much a happier
and a more useful man than one whose eyes are closed to it. The
observation of bird-life is one among many of unfailing sources of
pleasure. We cannot walk upon our downs, or along our cliffs, or on our
sands, with our eyes open without seeing birds innumerable, though I
believe that many never do see them. This museum, however, should teach
us to see them, to know them one from another, to make them our friends
and companions, and, rightly used, it may be a source of making many
lives happier, and sweeter, and purer than they otherwise would be. For
such a collection as this ever to be dispersed or destroyed would be a
national misfortune. The Mayor has alluded to the fact that it was first
offered to the British Museum, and if I had had any idea that, if we did
not accept it, it would be destroyed or dispersed, I should have felt it
my duty to advise the Trustees to take it over. I received, however, an
intimation that the Corporation of Brighton was not only willing, but
most anxious to take charge of the collection, and to maintain it.
Although it would have been a great privilege to me to have been its
official guardian, I rejoice to think that it is going to remain here,
and that you have expressed your determination to maintain it for the
benefit of your fellow-townsmen and for visitors. The great central
national collections are the fitting repositories of many specimens of
natural objects and works of art. Such as are unique, and such as are
necessary for the researches of advanced students who require facilities
for their investigations which can only be obtained by the direct
comparison of a large series of specimens one with another, ought to be
in them. But, on the other hand, the more collections like this--adapted
for general instruction--are to be met with in other great centres of
population, the better it will be for the welfare of the country
generally. Apart from the fact that the collection was made at Brighton,
and a large number of the birds in it obtained in the immediate
neighbourhood, Brighton seems to be a particularly suitable place for
preserving a museum like this. You have a vast number of visitors, who
come for the purpose of seeking repose or health, for whom such a light,
interesting, and easy occupation as is afforded by learning what this
museum can teach, ought to be the best that can be found. It only needs
to be better known to be very much more widely appreciated than it has
been hitherto. In conclusion, I feel sure that I am expressing the
feelings of friends around me who are interested in the advancement of
the Natural History sciences, and of many more who are unable on account
of other engagements to be present, in thanking the Mayor and
Corporation for asking us to come to this interesting meeting, and in
congratulating them on possessing such a valuable addition to the many
attractions of the town.
VII
THE MUSEUM OF THE ROYAL COLLEGE OF SURGEONS OF ENGLAND[11]