Chapter XV Collecting and Preserving Insects
The taxidermist will, in the course of his avocation, require to know something of various insects, their methods of capture, and how to preserve and utilise them in his profession.
Of the various orders of insects, Hemiptera (earwigs, field-bugs, etc..), Orthoptera (cockroaches, grasshoppers, locusts, etc..), Diptera (flies, etc..), Neuroptera (dragon flies, May flies, Ac.), Lepidoptera (butterflies and moths), Coleoptera (beetles), and Hymenoptera (bees, wasps, and Ichneumon-flies, etc..), the Lepidoptera and Coleoptera will find most favour in his eyes, owing to their brilliancy of colouring, variety of shape and size, and easiness of manipulation.
It must be remembered, however, that insects should be collected with a definite purpose by the taxidermist, and not merely for pastime, or he will degenerate into that most Odious of all created beings — a collector for the sake of collecting, or what used to be called an “exterminator.” Indeed, I have known of a case in which over 1600 of the males of a certain species were caught in one day, “assembled” by the attractions of seven or eight females. These figures seem incredible, but for the fact that I myself saw part of the spoil displayed on a 12 ft. board.
Need I say that such slaughter as this is far beyond the bounds of fair collecting, and that such courses, persevered in, give the odious title of “exterminators” to all those who practise it. In this particular instance the moths were made up into “pictures,” which, though ornamental perhaps for a workman’s home, hardly justify the slaughter of any but the very commonest or harmful species.
The tortoiseshell, peacock, and admiral butterflies are often bred in hundreds for the purpose of making a “picture” of a snake strangling a tiger, or a crown, or the wings are cut by punches to form the petals of flowers, to be afterwards grouped under shades. All these things, though very curious, and really striking if well done, are steps in the wrong direction, and on a par with the use of humming and other birds for ladies’ hats — all of which adaptations of natural history objects to commerce inexpressibly “worry” anyone with the slightest taste or feeling.
If a really beautiful object is wanted, in order to show a group of exotic or other insects as specimens, out of a cabinet, you may mount them in as natural a manner as possible on grasses or fine twigs, made as directed, setting them off with a few foreign ferns, and inclosing the whole in a “mount,” to hang up, or in a narrow oval shade with carved oak or other stand; or they may be scientifically and artistically mounted, to show the life-history of any one species, by arranging the larvae feeding on a properly modelled representation of its natural food-plant, the imagines, male and female, with some few striking varieties, shown at rest or flying, as also the eggs and the pupa-case, with a description of their economy affixed. A few specimens of families or genera of insects shown thus is, to my mind, of far greater importance, especially to museums, than mere “collectors” are aware of.
Many works have been written on the collecting and preserving of these orders, and especially of the Lepidoptera, vide Dr. Guard Knagg’s work on “Collecting Lepidoptera,” Rev. Joseph Greene’s “Insect Hunter’s Companion,” and many others, including a little work on “Collecting Butterflies and Moths” by myself.
Cruelty has been advanced as a crime specially to be laid to the charge of the student in entomology; but some of the greatest workers in that science have been ladies and clergymen, as also laymen of the most humane and advanced scientific principles. A vast amount of ignorant ideas, carefully nursed, are used as weapons against the entomologist — the pet one of which is, that impalement of a living insect through the head constitutes the sole aim and end of the collector.
The fact is curiously inverse of this, for not only are insects captured for purposes of study, but they are never impaled alive but by a very ignorant or careless person. The lepidoptera (butterflies especially) are very easy to kill, the simplest plan being to press the thorax underneath the wing with the finger and thumb, which instantly causes death. This is now superseded by the cyanide bottle, of which anon.
It is singular how many people there are, even in the middle class, who fail to recognise the fact that the egg (ovum) produces the caterpillar or “grub” (larva), which, after a due season of preparation, produces the chrysalis (pupa), which latter, lying quiescent for a variable period, either in the ground or in other situations favourable for its development, changes the last time to the perfect insect (imago). This latter, if a butterfly or moth, does not, as some people imagine, grow, but after it has unfolded its wings on emergence to their full extent, it never becomes either larger or smaller.
An insect, especially a butterfly, when seen by a youngster, is usually chased in the most reckless fashion — jacket and cap, and even sticks and stones, are pressed into the service, and the unfortunate insect is usually a wreck before its fortunate (?) captor falls on top of it.
I shall endeavour in the following pages to show the proper way in which to collect and preserve insects, especially the lepidoptera and coleoptera.
NETS. — The first thing to be considered is, how to catch your game. This is managed by a “net,” not of the construction of those mentioned in Chapter II., but made of a lighter material. They are of various shapes, the professional, or old English pattern, being something of the construction of a “bat-folding” net. It is, in my opinion, a most unsportsmanlike weapon, rapidly going out of date — if not deceased already — and is fitly replaced by the Continental, or “ring”-net, which is now generally used. However, it may, perhaps, be necessary to describe how to make this machine or clap-net — fit only for dealers or exterminators.
Procure two pieces of ash (or beech, as being the lighter wood), each of about 5 ft. in length. With a plane or spokeshave round these up until they taper from 1 in. diameter at bottom to little less than 0.5 in. at top. Now saw each rod into four pieces of 15 in. long, or, for greater strength, but less portability, into three 20 in. pieces. Ferrule these in the manner of fishing-rods, so that each rod joins up to its normal length of 5 ft. At the top of each rod fix a specially-made ferrule, bent or brazed to about the angle of 45 deg.
Next get two pieces of cane, each 15 in. in length, and of sufficient diameter to fit tightly into the bent angle of the top piece; bore the top ends of these canes and tie them loosely together. If the rods with canes attached are now laid down, with the ends of the canes pointing inwards, it will be seen that they assume somewhat the shape of the gable-end of a house, which would fold in on itself by means of the cord acting as a hinge.
Now get some stout black holland, which sew all round the rods to within 6 in. of the ends of the bottom joints, so as to fit loosely to allow them to be inserted or withdrawn at pleasure. When the cane ends are tied together, cut a hole on the top of the holland, so that you may be enabled to untie them when required. This hole, for greater neatness and strength, should be “button-holed” around. To this framework of holland attach at the bottom some strong black tape, which pass through the holes previously bored in the last joints of the rods within 6 in. of their ends. This prevents the net slipping either up or off when in use.
The material of the net itself is the next consideration. This is of “leno,” a cheap kind of strong gauze. Procure as many yards of this as will make a loose bag when sewn on and around the framework of holland, when the net-rods are folded together; bagging especially at the bottom part, so as to fall down some inches when the net is held up.
You have now a portable bag, or “clap-net,” of over 5 ft. high by 2 ft. 6 in. or more wide. To use this machine, you simply stretch it to its full extent and run out in front of any insect you wish to stop, clapping it smartly together and securing your captive in the bag formed when the net is shut. Some little practice is needed to do this neatly, especially with such dashing, fast-flying moths as the “Emperor,” or “Bee Hawks.” Laying down the net, and confining the insect to one part, is the best way to get it out uninjured. To take this net to pieces, the tapes at the bottom and the cords at the top require only to be loosened, when the rods can be drawn out, unjointed, and slipped into a bag or a pocket specially sewn in the breast of the coat to receive them.
When portability is not a desideratum, the rods may be easily made of green hazel (or nut tree) wands, bent and secured into shape and dried in the sun, or up a chimney, or otherwise a strong cane may be steamed (or boiled) and dried in like manner; few people, I opine, however, care to carry out from a town two long roughly-shaped rods of 5 ft. or 6 ft. long in this clumsy fashion.
I did not wish to describe this net at all, as it is, in my opinion, a most unsportsmanlike or un-entomological weapon, as nothing can escape it. Indeed, a friend of mine not inaptly describes it as the “gobbler;” and it does really “gobble” up any insect it is used against.
The continental or ring net is now generally used. For one variety a tin or brass Y is made, into the bottom arm of which a stick fits. The spreading arms serve to hold a cane, which is bent round, and each end thrust in. A net of gauze or leno, is attached. My objection to this net is that the cane often slips out of the arms of the Y, which latter also breaks at the junction; added to which it takes up a great deal of room, not being very easily doubled without the risk of breaking. The points which a net should possess in perfection are — first, strength; secondly, portability; and, thirdly, adaptability to more than one use. I shall endeavour to show by the next two figures my ideas of a perfect net.
images/Image177.gifFig. 41 — Plan of “ring” net.
Fig. 41 shows a strong and easily made net. To make this, procure some brass wire, gauge No. 8 or 9. Cut from the ring of wire sufficient to form a net a foot in diameter, allowing enough in addition for two short arms. Cut off about 3 ft. 8 in., which will allow for joints; divide this so that one half is about an inch and a half longer than the other; make one end of the longest piece into a small loop, cranking it at the bottom, as shown at C; one end of the other piece is then thrust through the loop at A, turned round, and beaten down, forming as it were two links of a chain; this acts as a hinge, and allows the net to be doubled. The other end is then cranked, as shown at B, but shorter than the arm C.
Next procure sufficient of the material known as black “holland,” which sew all round the ring of the net in such a manner that it does not interfere with the working of the hinge. For this purpose a strip of about 2 in. wide will be enough, which, doubled over and hemmed at the bottom, allows sufficient for the net — a bag made of the material called “leno” — to be subsequently affixed. About a yard of “leno” suffices for the bag, and the pieces which come off the bottom during the operation of rounding it, form “gussets” to fill the net in up to the point where the arms B and C first spring.
To fit this net ready for use, get an ordinary walking-stick, a portion of which is shown at A (Fig. 42), in which bore two holes, one on each side, to receive the little returns shown at B and C (Fig. 41), and at such a distance from the top of the stick as is determined by the length of the arms. With a 0.125 in. gouge or chisel, groove out the wood from these holes to the end of the stick, until the arms of the net just, “bed” up level with the surface.
The arms being nicely adjusted, remove the net temporarily from the stick. Next procure a piece of brass tube from 2 in. to 2.5 in. long, and of sufficient diameter to slip from the point of the stick until it passes the last hole (a 0.625 or 0.75 in. diameter will be found a generally suitable size). On the extreme point of the stick affix an ordinary walking-stick ferrule of such a size and thickness as not to allow the tube to slip off. To fix the net, slip the tube up the stick past the last hole, and placing the little cranks, B and Q in their proper holes, the remainder of the arms properly “bedded” in the grooves, slide the tube D (Fig. 41) up to the point of the stick, as shown in Fig. 42, and the net is thus effectually locked and ready for use.
images/Image178.gifFig. 42 — “Ring”-net complete.
I claim for this net the following advantages: That it is the most easily made, the strongest, and the most easily taken down of any net known; added to which its joint A, which does not in the least weaken the frame, allows it to be folded in half the space taken up by the “ring net” or the ordinary “landing net” arrangement. (Note for fishermen: Landing nets, formed as Fig. 41, I have found very useful, as they take up less room in the fishing basket, and are quite as quickly put together as by the screw and socket arrangement.)
Larger nets than are generally used in this country will of course be necessary when collecting such insects as form the genus Ornithoptera or Morpho. For collecting abroad no net will be found more serviceable than a large and strong one, made as Fig. 41; and really when you have five large papilios in your net at one time, as I once had, you require one a little out of the common. A short handle to the net will be found more useful than a long one for collecting some insects, but a brass telescopic handle can be easily made by any gasfitter, and used either long or short as expediency directs.
The next figure shows apparently a more elaborate looking net. The only other one known to me which folds in four, folds by means of the rule joint, and is somewhat objectionable, inasmuch as it must either be made of unnecessarily thick and cumbersome wire, to stand the strain, or if made, as it should be, of the proper sized wire and of light construction, it is sure to break out at one or the other of the joints. Experience having proved this, I devised the net shown in Fig. 43, which, in compliment to a gentleman who gave me a hint with regard to the slide, I have called the “Hill Sliding Net.” This slide allows the net to be folded to just half the size of the preceding one, making it, therefore, highly convenient to carry.
images/Image179.gifFig. 43 — The “Hill sliding net,” open.
images/Image180.gifFig. 44 — The “Hill sliding net,” closed.
This net frame is, I fear, beyond the power of the amateur to make for himself, being really a brazier’s job. A A A A are four pieces of wire of the same thickness as used for the preceding net. The two top pieces are flattened out at the top and each one drilled with a hole, b b. At e e e e are little brass tubes, brazed to the arms, which allow each arm to slide down on the other. When these are brazed and fitted to slide they are fixed to the tube D by smaller tubes, one on each side, in this manner. At f the arm is brought across the tube and permanently fixed in the smaller tube. At g the other arm is brought across in the same manner, but allowed to revolve in the small tube brazed to the side of D; the end of this am (on the right of Fig. 43) coming through the tube is coiled round and brazed to a screw, H, fixed in such a manner that, though screwing freely through a burr fixed on D, it cannot come out.
There are then no loose pieces to this net, which, from the nature of the slides, is remarkably strong, and is easily opened and shut. (Fig. 44 shows the net folded, and with the arms slid down one on the other.) To finish, tie a piece of whipcord in the holes from b to b, and sew the holland all around the net as before, leaving plenty of room for the playing of the slides; the “leno” is then sewn to this in the usual manner, and thus becomes a fixture, as in the preceding net.
To open and fix the net from the position shown in Fig. 44 (which for the sake of clearness is shown without the “leno “), pull the whipcord C (now hidden, of course, by the holland) and ease up the slides; bend over the revolving arm until the screw H comes over the hole in the burr on D. Push the walking stick A (Fig. 45) into the tube D, and screw up H, the point of which enters the stick, and firmly fixes and locks the net. Fig. 45 shows the net ready for use.
The arrangement of the whipcord at C is to enable the net to be used as a “sugaring” net in addition to its ordinary use for catching; C being pressed against a tree, the corner of a wall, a fence, or a gas lamp, etc.., readily accommodates itself to any angle required.
A useful net for sugaring purposes, if Fig. 45 is not used, is one recommended by Dr. Guard Knaggs. It is of triangular shape, the frame of it being formed by socketing two pieces of paragon wire into a metal Y piece, and connecting their diverging extremities by means of catgut, which, when pressed against a tree or other object, will adapt itself to the outline of it, as shown below by the dotted line (Fig. 46).
Killing Insects. — Having caught your butterfly, you will wish to kill it in the most painless and least troublesome manner. For this purpose you will require a “cyanide bottle.” Purchase, therefore, at the druggist’s a wide-mouthed bottle (a 4 oz. bottle is a handy size for the pocket, but you will require larger sizes for certain uses). Into this bottle put from an ounce to an ounce and a half of pure cyanide of potassium, in lumps, not pounded (a deadly poison), which you will completely cover with a layer of plaster of Paris, mixed to the consistence of paste. The bottle may be corked, have a screw top, or glass stopper, according to your fancy. A glass stopper is, of course, the safest to confine the deadly vapour given off, but in point of convenience, and especially for outdoor work, nothing can surpass a well-fitting cork — rising sufficiently high above the mouth of the bottle to afford a good grip. As the plaster is setting it should be well shaken down to insure an even surface, and afterwards a piece of wool or blotting-paper should be put into the bottle to absorb any superfluous moisture. In the course of a day, the plaster will be dry and ready for use. 1
images/Image181.gifFig. 45 — The “Hill sliding net” ready for use.
images/Image182.gifFig. 46 — “Sugaring” net.
The insect being captured, you twist your net rapidly over to get it as near to the bottom as possible — a very necessary precaution in the case of a swift-flying or excitable insect. Holding the net now in the left hand, take the bottle, previously uncorked, in your right hand and slip it into the net and over the insect. In case of refractory insects, blowing from the outside will sometimes make them go to the bottom of the bottle. When this happens, you can slip your hand from the outside over the mouth of the bottle, and hold it there until the insect is corked up. In less than a minute it is stupefied and motionless. If taken out, however, it will revive; it must be left in, therefore, from ten to fifteen minutes. In the case of female insects which have not yet deposited their eggs, and are consequently exceedingly tenacious of life, a longer time will be found necessary.
Bruised laurel leaves, chloroform, benzol, etc.., are recommended by some authors. The first is, I think, uncertain in its effects, and has, perhaps, a tendency to make the insects go ultimately mouldy. The second stiffens the wing rays of some insects to such an extent as to render them difficult to set. It has been recommended in the case of large insects, such as the hawk moths, to pierce them underneath the thorax at the insertion of the first and second pairs of wings with a steel pen dipped in a saturated solution of oxalic acid. I have frequently done this myself with good results in the days when cyanide bottles were unknown, but for the largest hawk moths — “Death’s heads” even — I find nothing to beat a large bottle (a glass jar, such as the French bottle plums in, does admirably), in which is placed about 0.25 lb. of cyanide. With a killing jar of this kind, which I call the “home” bottle, I have frequently instantaneously killed mice and even rats. In fact, the volume of poisonous vapour evolved from one of these bottles is such, that I advise my readers not to take “sniffs” therefrom, lest severe headaches, or worse results, should follow.
As it is nearly all but impossible to pin an insect so correctly as you would wish during the hurry and excitement of butterfly hunting, I recommend that all insects captured when the collector is from home be laid on their sides, and the pin passed through the body whilst in that position. This saves the unnecessary marking of the thorax by more than one pin hole, as the pin can be removed without detriment to the formation of the body, and the insect pinned in its proper position when the collector reaches home.
SETTING. — Having brought the entomologist to this point, I may discuss what to do to preserve the trophies of the day’s chase. First, then, the insects must be “set.” To do this properly is the vexata quaestio of the day. As a nation we anciently practised the “setting” of lepidoptera with four or eight braces, two or one underneath and two or one on top of the wings. The wings were then not so fully extended as now, but the body was pressed as close to the setting board as it was possible to get it. The next step was the cork setting board, cut to show in section nearly a half oval, the bodies were a little raised from the set, and the rounded points of the fore and hind wings invariably touched the paper of the cabinet when placed therein, curling up wherever they touched.
images/Image200.gifFig. 47 — Section of “Setting Board”
Fig. 47 shows a section of a “setting board” designed to remedy this evil. The block A is formed of a piece of 0.75 in. deal, 12 in. to 14 in. long, and of varying widths according to the insects required to be set. Exactly in the centre a groove is “ploughed” to the depth of 0.5 in.; from the outer edges of this groove B the board should be “pitched” or “bevelled” 0.125 in. on each side to its outer edge. On top of each half, a piece of 0.125 in. cabinet cork C C is glued, and also in the groove B, where shown at C.
Presuming that you have a “Red Admiral” to set with l.125 in. or a No. 13 pin, you will find, if allowing 0.125 in. for the body, that after setting an insect in a board of this kind the matter will be pretty evenly adjusted — that is to say, about 0.5 in. of pin above and below the butterfly. This allows the insect when placed in the cabinet to be well clear of the paper, and is the mode now generally adopted by those entomologists who effect a compromise between the ridiculous English low setting and the Continental “high-set.” What the real objections are to this latter setting it has always puzzled me to discover, unless it is the true British objection to anything foreign or “French.”
In a foreign Camberwell Beauty (Vanessa Antiopa) which I have just measured, the relative proportions are as follow: The whole length of the pin is 1.5 in., it comes through the body on the underside 0.875 in., whilst above the body it shows but a little more than 0.25 in. Its advantages are manifest. First, it brings the insects much nearer the eye when placed in the cabinet. Secondly, by its position the body is prevented from greasing the paper of the cabinet (a not unimportant item when the reader is told that the white velvet of a newly-lined cabinet drawer has been utterly ruined by the grease from the bodies of low-set insects). Thirdly, the almost total immunity from “mites” which high-set insects enjoy.
This last consideration ought to induce our entomologists to adopt the Continental set nem. con. For what entomologist dare tell me that he has no mites in his cabinet? Is it the user of camphor, of creosote, of phenic acid, or of corrosive sublimate? Why, then, this foolish prejudice against the high-set? I have tried both plans, low setting for fifteen, and high setting for ten years. I have, as an experiment, mixed high-set insects in with low-set “exchanges.” The brown dust underneath the latter tells their tale too well. In a box of foreign high-set insects which I have had by themselves for four or five years little or no trace of the destroyer is to be seen.
Reform your “setting boards,” then, say I; plough your grooves deeper, and if you object to the flat appearance of the foreign set insects, there is no earthly reason why you should not “pitch” your boards to the angle I show in Fig. 47, or to any other angle you desire. The objection to this “high-set” lies in a nutshell: it looks “odd” to one accustomed to the English method, and that is really all to be advanced against its general use.
Let me, therefore, ask my brother entomologists to give the “high-set” a fair trial, and not to be deterred by the sneers of any novice. It may strengthen my pleading and terminate the hesitation of the young entomologist if I mention here that the officer in charge of the collection of lepidoptera in the British Museum — the well-known authority, A. G. Butler, F.L.S., etc.. — is not only setting all newly-received butterflies and moths in precisely the fashion advocated above, but is actually re-setting all the old “low-set” insects in the same manner!
Whilst on the subject of foreign insects I should like to impress upon the young beginner not too greedily to rush after “real British” specimens of rarities, or he may find that he has purchased, at the expense of some pounds, perhaps, a reset continental type worth as many pence. I fancy I see our would-be entomologist shaking his head and very sagely saying, “Oh no! I intend to collect all my insects myself.” My young friend, let me tell you that you will have to collect far beyond the prescribed threescore years and ten if you would yourself collect all the British lepidoptera. Work, therefore, in collecting as hard as you can, and when you want a rarity to fill up a void in your cabinet, go at once to some respectable dealer and ask for a continental type of the insect you want, place it in your cabinet, label it “Foreign,” and when you can replace it with an undoubted “Britisher” think yourself lucky.
images/Image183.gifFig. 48 — Butterfly “braced” on board.
To make my meaning plain, we will take the Bath White butterfly (Pieris Daplidice) as an example. An undoubted British specimen of this, caught, say, at Dover, is certainly worth a sovereign — the price of a continental one precisely similar, but captured on the other side of the “silver streak,” 5d. Difference in cost for a mere fancy, 19s. 7d!
Again, what would be the price of an English captured Oleander Hawk (Choerocampa Nerii) — shall we say from 12 to 20 pounds, according to the conscience of the vendor and the pocket of the purchaser? A fine foreign specimen, beautifully set and precisely similar, can be bought for about 5s.
To set your butterflies, see Fig. 48, which shows a common white butterfly braced on the setting board. To do this your insect must be truly pinned as before directed, and placed in the centre of the groove A B (which is also shown in section at B, Fig. 47); four pieces of thin cardboard, each about 1 in. long, are cut to the shape shown at C C C C. An ordinary pin is pushed a little way through them at their bases.
With a fine needle now lift up from underneath the left hand upper wing of the insect to about the angle shown in Fig. 48; picking up a brace with the left hand, push the pin in the cork in such a manner that the brace lightly holds down the wing. Do the same with the underwing. Repeat with the other side. 2
I have been assuming that the wings of the insect previously lay flat. If they are folded up above the back they had better be pushed down with the braces instead of with the needle, and pinned to any position they will readily fall to, and from that gradually worked up by means of another brace to the angle required. The fore pair of legs should be braced to the front, and hind pair of legs, especially of moths, are to be braced out to fall neatly between the body and the wings. Sometimes very fine cambric needles are thrust through, just underneath one of the wing rays, to lift up and keep it in position, -until the braces can be brought to bear. This ought not to be resorted to except in extreme cases, or for other than cabinet specimens.
A correspondent (Mr. G. H. Bryan) writing in Science Gossip for December, 1883, says: — “The grooved cork, instead of being glued to one wooden board, is fastened on to the two boards, the groove between them corresponding exactly with the groove in the cork. These in turn are held together by three slips of wood, to which they are firmly nailed. In setting insects, the pin should not be run into the groove just above the slips. If run into the cork anywhere else, the pin can be pushed through to any depth required, and, as a rule, the slips are so high that, when the board is laid down on a table, none of the pins touch the table.”
I some time ago saw, at the house of a well-known naturalist and traveller, residing near Cirencester, an ingenious arrangement applied to setting-boards, by which the groove of each board could be altered so as to take in the body of the smallest or the largest butterfly or moth at will. It was managed by one half of the board being movable from its fellow, and capable of being adjusted to any size, by simply turning a screw working in a slot in a brass plate at top and bottom.
Another method of setting insects is by means of “blocks,” sections of varying widths cut from the uncorked setting-board, the grooves only being corked. The insect being pinned in the groove is extended with the setting needle, and the wings lightly wrapped, when in position, with silk coming over and over, from side to side. To do this nicely requires practice, to avoid marking the wings with the silk.
The “block” system of setting is more used by collectors in the Midlands and the North than about London or in the South. Insects should be left on the setting-boards or blocks from two or three days to a week, or even more, according to their size; and during this time should be kept out of the dust, but allowed air to dry them thoroughly.
The German system of setting by means of pieces of glass dropped over the wings when in position is a clean neat method of “flat” setting, allowing the insect to be clearly seen if it be truly “set” or not.
When insects are from any cause too stiff to set without first relaxing them — placing them in the cyanide bottle for a day or night will often do this effectually, or placing them in a wet corked zinc box, or in a box with damp sand, or in a small “plaster box” will do equally as well. This is made by lining the whole of the inside of a wooden box with plaster of Paris mixed with water, and laid on from one to two inches thick. The plaster is, of course, thoroughly damped, and the insects enclosed in the box. The same pins with which they are pinned whilst relaxing should not be permanently left in, if it be possible to remove them without injuring the aspect of the thorax. Pins so left in, being more corroded than usual, frequently break after being in use a short time.
Old insects, which it may be dangerous to relax, or large foreign unset lepidoptera, may sometimes be set by a skilful hand by having their wings carefully pinched off by forceps, and replaced in the required position by using a strong paste or cement (see Formula No. 33): Repairs may be “executed with promptness and despatch” by cementing on parts of other wings to replace torn or missing pieces, or tissue paper may be used, providing the repairer is a skilful artist. I once saw a very poor specimen of Urania rhipheus — a splendid moth from Madagascar — so cleverly pieced by tissue paper and coloured, that it would deceive any but an expert.
Beetles (in science — Coleoptera) may be sought for everywhere — in woods, fields, ponds, rivers, underneath stones and exuviae of cattle; in decaying leaves, trees, and fungi; in and underneath dead animals; in cellars, outhouses, and even in what would be supposed the most unlikely place to find them — ant hills, bees’ and wasps’ nests — and in the rubbish collected at the sides of streams, especially if after a flood. They may be taken by sweeping, beating, sugaring, or by carefully prospecting tufts of grass, moss, leaves, and flowers. Bags of moss or ant-hills may be brought home and looked over at leisure for minute beetles — throwing rubbish into water, or sifting it over white paper, being the handiest way to reveal them.
For those which inhabit water, a net made of any strong material, which allows water, but nothing else, to run through quickly (a net fashioned as in Fig. 41 or 46 will do for this), should be used as well as for collecting other water insects. Beetles may be brought home in small test tubes, corked at the open end, or in quills stopped at one end with sealing wax, and at the other with wadding, or a quill may be inserted in the cork of a larger bottle, into and through which they may be dropped, or they may be killed at once in the cyanide bottle, or otherwise thrown into a bottle containing alcohol, in which corrosive sublimate (in the proportion of 6 gr. to the ounce of spirit) has been previously placed, which effectually kills and ultimately tends to preserve them.
On reaching home, the contents of this bottle may be turned out into any shallow dish kept specially for that purpose (a photographer’s “print” pan) and fished for with small pieces of paper or cardboard, and the spirit afterwards returned to the bottle. The larger beetles are to be pinned through the right wing case, and never in the centre, their legs being nicely arranged in the proper positions, and in some cases the wings may be displayed. The more minute beetles may be gummed on a small slip of card through which the pin passes, their legs arranged by the aid of fine patience, a crooked pin, a camel-hair pencil, and a pair of small forceps, the latter being also very handy for picking up any other small objects.
In setting the larger beetles, as well as the various thick-bodied insects, belonging to the orders Orthoptera, Neuroptera, Diptera, and Hymenoptera, double braces instead of “setting”-boards may be used in the following manner: The insect being pinned high on a board or piece of cork, with legs extended, two large pieces of card, one for each side, are brought up underneath the wings and close to the body by pins stuck through the corners. This forms a rest for the wings when extended, which are then braced on top of the cards by smaller braces in the usual manner, the pins, however, of the braces falling outside the supporting cards and fixing in the wood or flat cork underneath.
Many exotic insects — butterflies and moths — are set in this manner, which is really “flat setting.” If the braces are at any time too limp and do not seem to clip the wings properly, a little piece of cork just sufficient for the pin to slip through may be added on top of the brace.
The larger beetles and other insects, such as the dragon-flies, cicadas, grasshoppers, and “walking leaf” insects, should always have the contents of the abdomen removed either by pressure, or by being cut underneath, and, when empty, injected with a little of the corrosive sublimate preparation, and afterwards filled out with wool or blown out with a small blowpipe until the abdomen is again distended and dry. Some insects which are narrow at the “waist” may be advantageously snipped through at that part to remove the contents therefrom, the body being afterwards fixed with gum or cement to its normal position.
In the setting of beetles — as in other things — the ubiquitous Germans and the Frenchmen beat us. Compare the beautifully foreign set coleoptera, with our wretchedly lame and uneven-sided attempts. It is impossible to mistake the ordinary English for foreign setting, and of this I was curiously convinced on my arrival at Leicester, in the Museum of which town I found some exquisitely-set specimens of coleoptera. I said at once, “These are German-set.” “No, indeed,” I was told, “they are set by a local man.” I could not believe it; and after great difficulty, the man himself even persisting in this assertion, I discovered that they were all procured from Germany or were set by a German friend.
This gentleman having subsequently shown me his method, I now give it for the benefit of coleopterists: The beetles, after being killed, are plunged into benzoline (benzol) for two or three days, to cleanse them from grease and impurities. Indeed, it considerably simplifies matters to carry a bottle of benzol, as I do when collecting beetles, to plunge them into when first taken. It instantly kills, and the cleansing operation goes on at once. On reaching home the beetles are, after a day or two, pinned, or gummed unset on to any pieces of card in any manner most suitable at the time to economise space; the cards can then be pinned into a store-box.
During the winter months, or at any time when required, the beetles may be set, thus: first, plunge them into water for a day or so until quite limp, then take them out and place them one by one on separate pieces of card, well gummed in the centre to retain them firmly by the abdomen whilst being set. A very little time will suffice to do this should the gum be strong.
After twenty or so are fixed, the first one gummed down can be finished off. The card is smeared with gum where the legs, or rather “tarsi,” will come into place, and arranged with a setting needle. Now carefully place the limbs into a natural and even position, their feet resting on the gummed surface; adjust the antennae, etc.., and leave the insect to dry by pinning the card in any suitable receptacle. When perfectly set and dry, the final operations are once more plunging the beetle into benzoline, then wetting its abdomen and feet to release it from the dirty card, and lastly slightly re-gumming the underneath and tips of the feet with cement (see Formula 33) and finally adjusting it on a clean card, which may be labelled or numbered, and secured by a small pin at each end in the cabinet or store-box.
COLLECTING AND OTHER BOXES. — The collecting box is a small box made to fit the pocket, corked top and bottom, opening in the middle, and made of sufficient depth to allow the heads of the pins on one side to well clear the insects, which may be pinned on the other. Collecting boxes may be made of various woods and of various sizes to suit the pleasure and pocket of the collector. They should be made light but strong, and a little fillet of thin wood should be inserted along one side on the front edge, to ensure the close fitting of the box. Another sort of collecting box is that corked at the bottom, having a flat lid, on which a piece of cork is glued, and cut to fit the box tightly when closed, thus forming the top lid. This style is also used for postal boxes.
In very hot weather, or if the collector roves far afield, he will find that many of his butterflies, if placed in the ordinary wooden collecting box, will have become stiff before he can reach home to set them. The remedy for this is a zinc box lined with cork, which latter is soaked in water before commencing the day’s collecting. These boxes are made in various shapes and sizes. A handy one for the pocket is a 7 in. by 4 in., 2.5 in. deep, made of an oval shape if desired, corked on top and bottom, the cork held by clips of zinc soldered to top and bottom. For more extended operations a larger box will be required, say, 13 in. by 9 in., 2.5 in. deep, with loops soldered to the back, through which a strap passes to suspend it from the shoulders. These boxes are lighter if made in tin, and the water does not corrode them so rapidly if they are japanned inside as well as out.
“Postal boxes,” by which entomologists transmit their captures to one another, should be made of strong white pine, the tops and bottoms nailed on, on the cross. They may open in the middle or at top, as before mentioned, and further have a strengthening piece of thick cork glued all over them outside and rasped down to the shape of a rough oval.
Inside, the cork should be glued down on top and bottom; on this a few small strips of the same cork running across with interstices left between them. On top of this another sheet of cork, thus forming three thicknesses, in which the pin is pushed as far as it will go. In the case of large-bodied moths, or any valuable insects, it is as well to support the abdomen with a layer of wool, cross-pinning the body on either side to prevent it jarring or shifting. The box may then, for greater security, be wrapped in a sheet of wool and tied up. The address should not be written on the box, or the stamps affixed thereto, but on a direction label, otherwise some vigorous post-office sorter, or stamper, will convince you to your sorrow that he scorns such paltry protection as is afforded by the triple alliance of wood, cork, and wool.
The Germans cover the bottoms of a great many of their entomological boxes with peat, and this certainly holds the long pins firmly in transit; and it is also much less expensive than cork.
Foreign insects, when space is limited, may be sent home unpinned and unset, their wings folded over their backs, and each specimen wrapped in silver or tissue paper. It is astonishing what a number of them will pack in this manner in the compass of an ordinary cigar box.
“Drying houses” are sold by most of the dealers, but are expensive and cumbersome, and are really only of service when travelling, or collecting away from home. For this reason I suggest the following — which is a store box and receptacle for setting boards combined.
Make of 0.5 in. deal a box 20 in. long and 15 in. wide by 0.5 in. deep (all inside measurements), glue up all but the front piece (4 in. wide by 20 in. long), which merely tie in its place whilst glueing up the others. Cut the box when dry through the 4 in. back piece to exactly halve it. Hinge each half with strong hinges. It now resembles an open backgammon board box, without its two fronts.
Take now a strip of 1 in. deal, 15 in. long, and form it with a plough plane to the shape shown in Fig. 49. The part marked A will be 0.375 in. thick, the parts marked B B overhang 0.25 in., and rise from A to B B to the height which the thickness of your setting boards determine.
Divide this down the whole length with a cutting gauge where shown by the dotted lines; glue one of these halves to the side of one of the bottoms of the box, and from here measure off 5 in., which will be the size of your largest setting board for hawk moths. At this point glue down a whole strip, as shown in Fig. 49, which (supposing you have commenced from your left) clips the right-hand side of the first or 5 in. setting board, and the left-hand side of the second. Proceed in this manner until the bottom of the box is covered with setting boards, which will now slide in and out between the 0.375 in. divisions. Turn the box round and do precisely the same with the other half.
As many more insects under, than above, 4 in. in expanse of wing will be captured, the most useful sizes for setting boards, as also the proper proportions of boards and divisions to fill up the bottom of each half of the box, are as follow:
First half. — 0.25 in. strip, 5 in. board; 0.375 in. strip, 4 in. board; 0.375 in. strip, 3.5 in. board; 0.375 in. strip, 3 in board; 0.375 in. strip, 2.5 in. board; 0.25 in. strip = 20 in. total.
Second half. — 0.25 in. strip, 3.5 in. board; 0.375 in. strip, 3 in. board; 0.375 in. strip, 2.5 in. board; 0.375 in. strip, 2.5 in. board; 0.375 in. strip, 2.25 in. board; 0.375 in. strip, 2 in. board; 0.375 in. strip, 1.5 in. board; 0.25 in. strip = 20 in. total.
images/Image184.gifFig. 49 — Section of division strips.
There are thus twelve setting boards 15 in. long, of the most useful sizes, contained in this box. The front is still as it was, open. The loose piece of wood, 20 in. by 4 in., must now be cut down the length, and each half must (making 20 in. by 2 in.) be hinged to the top and bottom of the box; a lock can then be fixed to bolt together the two halves, hooks also being fixed at each end of the box to further secure the front flaps. Fig. 50 shows the arrangement of the box at this stage — shut, but with the front flaps lifted up and down, showing the “sliding” setting boards snugly fixed within. Insects may by this method be left on the boards whilst travelling without the slightest risk, as nothing can come loose, and the pins of one side miss those of the other when the box is shut and locked.
images/Image185.gifFig. 50 — Front of setting-board box, with flaps open.
A more simple plan, serving equally as well perhaps, and having the advantage of dispensing with the intervening slips, therefore giving more space for setting boards, is simply fixing a slip of wood at each inner end of the box, and another on each flap, so arranged as to hold all the setting boards down when shut. This is managed by allowing the wood of each setting board to protrude beyond its cork to the thickness of the slip — say half an inch. 3
Insects, after removal from their “sets,” require to be stored in glazed cases or cabinets for greater security and protection against evils previously glanced at. Some collectors content themselves with using for this purpose the ordinary store-box, made in the same manner as the collecting box, but of greater capacity. One 15 in. by 10 in. by 4 in. deep will be found a useful size; this — opening in the same manner as a backgammon board — is corked with cabinet cork, each sheet of which is usually 11 in. by 3.5 in. or (double size) 12 in. by 7.5 in.
The cork being glued evenly over each half of the box, is rubbed down with pumice-stone, and afterwards with sand-paper, to get an even surface and reconcile the joints one with the other. It is then papered with white blotting-paper, toned, or black paper, pasted down over the cork with paste, in which has been previously stirred a little carbolic acid or corrosive sublimate (both poisons).
It has also been recommended to previously steep the cork, especially if for “foreign service,” in a solution of —
Corrosive sublimate, 0.5 oz.
Camphor, 1 oz.
Spirits of wine, 1 pint.
Some little care is, of course, required in the handling of poisoned cork, etc.., but I do not write expecting that infants will be allowed to handle the various lethal agents with which these chapters necessarily abound.
Another sort of store box is the book box, hinged at the back and opening along the front, representing two distinct volumes of a book. This is either covered in cloth, labelled with gilt letters, or is made in mahogany, the bands let in in ebony, or white wood, and strips of lettered leather pasted in between them. 4 All around the box inside runs a little ledge of wood for the reception of glass, which, as each half is filled with insects, is pasted in with ornamental paper.
For those who delight in camphor, a piece of perforated cardboard or cork should be placed in the corners, forming angle pieces, and enclosing within the triangle thus formed, the (un)necessary morsels of the drug. When filled, it should be pasted over on the top, and the glass then fits close on top of it. Book boxes have one or two advantages: they look well in a library and take up but little room, and are easily handled when showing them to friends. As exhibition boxes they are nearly perfect.
CABINETS. — The entomological cabinet is a much more serious matter; there is no limit to its size, from the modest one of six drawers to the “working” one of thirty. The size of the drawers varies with individual taste. A nice size, however, is 18.5 in. long by 16.5 in. by 2.5 in., or the 20 in. by 18 in. by 2.5 in., or deeper if for large insects.
No amateur, unless he is a past master at joinery, can hope to construct a thoroughly well-made cabinet; indeed, few cabinet makers know how to turn out one to suit a veteran entomologist. Briefly: the drawers of a first class cabinet should be made of the best Spanish mahogany, or oak, in every part; no “baywood,” “cedar,” or any such spurious stuff should enter into its composition (good white pine being preferable to such). Cedar is totally unfit for store boxes or cabinets, owing to its tendency to throw out in time a gummy exudation, which settles on the wings of the insects and utterly ruins them. This remark applies also to cabinets for eggs.
The frames which hold the covering glass should preferably fit by a tongue resting in a groove, ploughed with a “filister” in the substance of the drawer itself. A fillet should rest inside, fitting against the inner edge of the frame, which should also be lined with velvet, to further exclude the dust. Drawer and frame should be made so true that the latter should fit back to front, if required, equally with its normal position. The carcase, or part into which the drawers fit, either by runners or in grooves by tongues attached to the drawers, should be made so truly that No. 1 drawer should fit in the place of Nos. 15 or 30, and vice versa, and all should “suck” back when pulled out half way. The drawers should be looked by “pilasters,” or have glazed and framed doors.
There are but few makers of such cabinets as I have just described, and prices are proportionately high, a sovereign a drawer being about the figure. Fair cabinets in mahogany or walnut, quite good enough. ordinary purposes, can be made, however, for half this sum, and deal ones a little less. The corking of these best cabinets is generally done before the bottoms are fixed, as thus an open surface is obtained for rubbing down, by leaving out the bottom until corked. White or black velvet, instead of paper, is often used to cover the cork.
Some little skill is requisite to do this without soiling the delicate material; the best way is, perhaps, to glue the cork on cardboard, cut to the size of the drawer, less the thickness of the velvet all round; on this glue the cork, rub it down as before directed, and strain the velvet over it, bringing its edges underneath the cardboard; glue the bottom of the cabinet drawer, and drop the prepared velvet-covered cork and cardboard into it, place clean paper over the velvet, and weight it down for a day or two. This plan ensures the cleanliness of your covering medium — a highly necessary precaution if using white velvet.
There are many other ways of fitting glass to drawers than that recommended. For instance, a hinged frame may be used, dropping in a “rabbet,” ploughed around the front, back, and sides of the drawers; or the top frame may have a tongue fitting inside the whole substance of the drawer, or the glass may be a fixture, beaded or puttied in on top, the whole of the bottom unscrewing from the drawer frame. This latter is very well for a collection when fully made up and complete, but if required for an incomplete collection, the risk and annoyance of unscrewing and screwing up, to constantly remove or insert a specimen, are great.
In view of the almost impossibility of keeping dust out of even the best-made cabinet drawers, if made on the top-lifting system, and also to do away with the screws, I have devised what I call the “dust-proof cabinet drawer.” The glass is “beaded” and puttied in as a fixture on the top of the drawer, either from the inside or out. At the usual distance from the glass, to clear the pins, a strip is fixed all around the frame of the drawer. Below this, at a depth settled by the thickness of the bottom, a groove runs all around, except at the back, which is cut out up to the bottom edge of the groove. The bottom, when corked and papered, fits inside the frame, “butting” up to the strip which clips it all around to about the width of 0.25 in. A false bottom now slides in the groove below, and fastens with a catch, making all perfectly secure and altogether dust proof.
If well made, this drawer is easy to open, as, directly the false bottom is removed the inner one slips down and is found on the table when the upper part is lifted off. The only thing to be said against this drawer is that the fronts show a little deeper than usual to allow for the extra bottom.
A modification of this is a closely glazed cabinet drawer, with a false corked bottom, loosely held down by a slip affixed to each side of the drawer, and sliding out from the back; managed by hinging the back piece or fixing it by brass eyes and hooks. Note, that all loose flaps to drawers or door-frames, in best cabinet-work, should be worked and fitted by “Dust-joint” planes. This reduces risk and dust to a minimum.
PINS. — The pins used are those called entomological, and are made in various sizes to suit various insects. An insect should be pinned with one of these exactly in the centre of the back, running through truly to the underneath, slanting, however, a little downward toward the body, thus throwing the pin’s head a little forward, but exactly in a line with the longest axis of the body. These are specially made by one or two firms only. Messrs. D. F. Tayler and Co., of Birmingham, issue a sample card, the most useful sizes of which are No. 11 (at 6d. per oz.) for the hawk moths, No. 13 (at 6d. per oz.) for smaller moths and butterflies, and No. 7 (at 2s. 6d. per oz.) for small moths, and such butterflies as the “Blues.” I have, of late, almost confined myself to No. 2 (at 2s. per oz.), a long fine pin, useful for many purposes (see chapter V).
There are many other sizes, but these will be found quite sufficient for the beginner. These pins are also gilt, under the impression that gilding tends to prevent the corrosion of verdigris which the juices from the bodies of some moths, the Hepialidae especially, induce. This is not so; the Continental black varnished pins are better safeguards, but prejudice forbids their use. Messrs. Tayler now make all their sizes in “enamelled black” to order, at the same prices as their gilded ones.
Varnishing the common entomological pins with a hard and nearly colourless varnish has been tried with good effect, though it is a trial of patience to do this to pins one by one. Really the only thing to stop grease appearing in the bodies of moths, to the subsequent breaking of your pins and soiling of your cabinet paper or velvet, is to open all the insects underneath, take out all their internal organs, carefully paint the inside with a little of the corrosive sublimate preparation (see Chapter IV), and fill up the void with cotton wool. Unfortunately the evil of greasy exudations from the bodies of unstuffed or low-set insects does not stop at the corrosion of the pins or greasing of the paper, but in many cases extends to the underlying cork, which is sometimes so badly greased as to necessitate the cutting out of the damaged patch to prevent the grease reappearing when the drawer is newly papered.
GREASE AND MITES. — “Grease” and “mites” are in fact the bêtes noires of the entomological collector. When you have an insect, therefore, old and greasy, but yet “too fondly dear” to throw in the fire, place the offender on a piece of cork weighted at the bottom with lead and sink it bodily in a wide-mouthed bottle, partly full of benzoline; leave it there from a day to a week, according to its state. When it comes out it will look even worse than before, but after being covered up with a layer of powdered chalk, magnesia, or plaster of Paris, it will often come out as good as new.
I say often, for cases occur now and then in which no amount of pains restores the insect to its pristine freshness; but these exceptions are few and far between. “Mitey” insects are cured in a similar manner; in fact, I would advise that all exchanges be submitted to the benzoline test. I have also used Waterton’s solution (see chapter IV) to plunge them in, though 6 gr. of corrosive sublimate to the ounce of alcohol are about the proportions of the bath for most insects; but the spirit may be increased, if, on trial with a common insect or black feather, it should be found that the mercury is deposited as a white stain on the evaporation of the spirit.
Rectified aether (pure) is a better medium than alcohol for rapidity of drying (especially in a draught), but is more expensive. Nothing, I believe, prevents mites (psocidae) appearing now and then even in poisoned insects. Constant care, stuffed bodies, and soaking in benzoline, are the deterrent agents; camphor is a pleasant fiction, so is wool soaked in creosote, phenic acid, cajeput oil, crystals of napthelin, etc.. — in fact, it may be laid down as an indisputable doctrine that no atmospheric poison is of the slightest avail against mites. 5 Get them to eat poison, or drown them and shrivel them up in spirit and you may settle them, but not otherwise.
I have heard of cabinet drawers suffered to remain upside down to prevent mites getting to the insects; but I very much fear that such a plan as this, is on all fours with that of a man whom I knew, who, being abroad in a “Norfolk-Howard” infested country, turned the head of his bed every other night to puzzle the enemy!
The late Mr. Doubleday, the father of English entomology, never admitted camphor in his cabinet (thinking, as I do, that it conduces to grease), but used the corrosive sublimate preparation instead, to touch the underneath of the bodies of doubtful strangers. Loose quicksilver or insect powder is by some strewn amongst their insects; but the danger of the first to the pins, and the untidy appearance of the second, militate against their general use. 6
HAUNTS. — Having given a brief outline of the capture, setting and storing of an ordinary insect, I will, in as few words as possible, give a short history of any peculiarities attending the capture of extraordinary insects.
Some butterflies and moths (the autumnal appearing species) live through all the winter hid up in hollow trees, outhouses, etc.., appearing at the first rays of the spring sun to lay their eggs and die. Others pass through the frost and snow as pupae, bursting their cerements in the sunshine, to live their brief life and perpetuate their race; others eke out a half dormant existence as minute larvae, others pass the winter in the egg state. In fact, each species has its idiosyncrasy. 7
The swallow-tail butterfly, first on some British lists, must be sought for in the fens of Norfolk, and Cambridgeshire, and Northamptonshire. It is a strong flyer, and requires running down, unless when settled on the head of one of the various umbelliferous plants it delights in. The clouded yellow is usually a lover of the sea-coast during the months of August and September — though in that year of strange climatic changes (1877) it appeared in considerable numbers from the beginning of June, whether hybernated, or an early brood evolved from pupae lying dormant throughout the last summer, is an open question.
The Purple Emperor, now one of our rarest insects (I have not seen it alive since the time when I was a boy, and saw it around the oaks of Darenth Wood), was formerly captured by the aid of a net fixed to a pole 30 ft. or 40 ft. long. But accident or science discovered, however, that this wearer of Imperial purple possessed a very degraded taste, descending, in fact, from the tops of the highest oaks to sip the juices from any decaying or excremental matter. Now, therefore, the recognised bait is a dead dog or cat in a severe state of “highness.” The “gamekeeper’s museum” in the few places where Iris now resorts may be searched with advantage, yielding also a plentiful supply of beetles of various sorts. The “Holly Blue” I have noticed to have a similar degraded taste.
Mud holes also in hot weather attract many butterflies, as do the sweet exudations from various trees, or from fallen or over-ripe fruit.
Occasionally a high-flying insect may be induced to follow to the ground a stone or piece of turf thrown up in front of it. The persistent manner in which some species will return again and again to the very same spot is something wonderful. The same flower head, the same muddy puddle or patch of road, is selected. The collector, if foiled in his first attempt, will do well, therefore, to wait for the probable return of his prize. Certain species frequent the chalk district only, others woods and sandy lanes; some are found only high up in the mountains of the north, others but in the low-lying valleys of the south.
The sea coast has its specialities, some insects even flying well out to seaward, in crossing from land to land. I remember a “crimson-speckled footman” moth, Deiopeia pulchella, flying on board a steamship whilst we were fully a hundred miles from the nearest land. No place, in fact, should be disregarded in which to search for insects, for some are so exceedingly local that a district of perhaps twenty miles in extent may be searched in vain for a desired species, until the collector suddenly comes upon one or two fields swarming with them.
Nor is this all, for in the case of two or three extremely local species, but one or two spots in the British Isles are their favoured haunts. Bean fields in flower, clover and lucerne fields in sunshine, are first-class hunting grounds, whilst on cloudy or very windy days many butterflies, such as the Blues, may be found resting on grasses or on tree trunks in woods; or, as in the case of the Hairstreaks, higher up under the leaves. Beating the boughs with a long stick will often force insects to fly, when their presence is unknown to us.
I have hitherto spoken of the collecting of insects by day only, but as there are many insects — moths — which appear but at night, we must follow them to their haunts, prepared with lantern and net. In the dusk of the evening, just as the sun sets and twilight comes on, we must take our stand near the flowers frequented by certain moths. In spring the blue bell, cherry, and apple blossom may be watched.
Later on, the blossoms of lime trees, flowers of the honeysuckle, bramble, petunias, scabious, and a host of others. Nettle beds also are great hunting localities at this time of the evening for many moths. Dark and sheltered hedgerows of lanes, fields of mowing grass, willows near water, heather, the seashore, all add their quota to the persevering entomologist. The sallow blooms (commonly called “palm”), both male and female, must be searched early in spring time for the whole of the genus Taeniocampa and many other newly-emerged or hybernated species. As they usually drop at the first contact of the light from the lantern, the net must be held under them, or a sheet may be spread under the bush, and those which do not fall at first may be shaken off the blooms with a smart stroke or two of a stick. If the bushes are not high, “hand-picking” with the net held in readiness is really the best.
Ivy blooms in the autumn are also sure finds, several species — many of great rarity — being taken off this plant at night. Owing to the usual localities in which ivy is found, the spread sheet and subsequent “beating” come in more often than the safer method of “netting” and “bottling.”
Light is also a great attraction to many moths, some of our greatest rarities being captured frequently, inside or outside street lamps, and the spectacle is by no means rare to see a “grave and reverend signor” climbing up the lamp-posts at a most unseemly hour of the night in search of specimens. Lighthouses have also yielded important captures, and there are worse things than being on friendly terms with the cleaner of street lamps, or the keeper of a lighthouse. True, you will get some awful rubbish, but the day will come when Alniaria or Celerio (which latter I once received alive), or some other rarity, will reward your faith. Light surfaces, such as white cloths or sheets left out all night, sometimes attract moths.
SUGARING. — The great nostrum for capturing moths is — “Sugar!” A legend tells that many years ago someone discovered (or imagined) that moths came to an empty sugar cask, situate somewhere in a now-unknown land; and acting as the Chinaman is said to have done, in re the roast pork — thought perhaps that the virtue resided in the barrel, and accordingly carted it off into the woods, and was rewarded by rarities previously unknown. A sage subsequently conceived the grand idea that the virtue resided in the sugar and not in the cask, and afterwards came the idea of an improved “sugar,” made as follows:
Coarse brown sugar (foots), 1 lb.
Porter (or ale), 1 gill.
Treacle (common), 0.25 lb.
Rum, a wineglassful or 0.5 quartern.
Mix together the sugar, treacle, and beer in a saucepan, and bring the mixture to the boiling point, stirring it meanwhile. Put it in corked bottles, and just before you wish to use it add the rum. Aniseed is sometimes used as the flavouring medium. Honey is also substituted for sugar, and sometimes the whole is mixed unboiled; but if the collector will try the foregoing recipe, the result of many years’ experience, he will, I am sure, be thoroughly satisfied.
The entomologist having provided himself with a bottle of the foregoing mixture, a tin pot to pour it into, and a brush to lay it on with, the net figured at Fig. 46, the cyanide bottle, a collecting box, and a lantern, is equipped for sugaring.
A special sugaring can may be made from a tin canister, to the rim of which a sort of funnel has been soldered in such a manner as to prevent any spilling of the contents, and to the lid of which a brush has been affixed. The wood-cut (Fig. 51), will explain.
This is, however, but a “fad,” intended to do what it never does — viz., keep your fingers from sticking, and “your tongue from evil speaking” about the “messiness” of the sugar.
images/Image186.gifFig. 51 — Sugaring can.
All seasons of the year (except when too great an abundance of a favourite flower abounds) yield a certain percentage of moths attracted by sugar. Mild nights in the depth of winter, or in very early spring, sometimes afford rarities, and certainly many hybernated common species. Warm, cloudy nights, with a little wind stirring, are generally the most favourable; but one of the best nights I ever had amongst the “Peach Blossoms” and “Buff Arches” (Thyatira batis and derasa) was in a wood in Warwickshire, when the rain fell in torrents, accompanied with fierce lightning and thunder, from about 11 p.m. until 6 the next morning. On this night everything swarmed, a hundred or more common things on one patch of sugar being of frequent occurrence.
Moonlight nights are, as a rule, blank ones for the “sugarer” — (Do the moths fly high to the light?) — but I once had a grand capture of many specimens of the “sword-grass” (C. exoleta) on a bright moonlight and very windy night in February; and Dr. Knaggs says that on one occasion he met with night-flying moths literally swarming on a sugared fence in a field once in his possession, whither, in the small hours, he had taken a stroll with a friend on the brightest moonlight morning it was ever his lot to behold.
Many nights which appear the most favourable will, on the contrary, be unaccountably disappointing; not a single moth will make its appearance. The presence of ground-fog, “honeydew,” more attractive flowers, or a coming change of wind or temperature (nothing caring to stir in an east, north, or northeast wind) will sometimes account for this.
“Showers, rain, thunderstorms, provided they are accompanied by warmth, are,” says Dr. Knaggs, “very favourable, and the catch during these conditions of the atmosphere will generally repay the inconvenience of a wet jacket. On one terrible night, when the lightning was perfectly terrific, almost blinding even, though my companion’s eyes and mine were kept upon our work, an incredible profusion of moths of various kinds were hustling one another for a seat at the festive board, and continued thus to employ themselves until a deluge of rain swept both sweets and moths away from their positions. On another stormy night, I well remember having counted no less than a hundred and fifty moths of several sorts and sizes struggling for the possession of two small patches of sugar. Perhaps the best condition of the air may be described as cloudy overhead, but clear and free from ground-fog near the earth; and when this state of things has been preceded by sultry weather, and a steady west, south, or south-west wind is blowing at the time, the collector need not fear the result, for he can hardly fail to be successful.”
July is usually one of the very best months for sugaring, and, if warm, what can be more charming than to select a fine night at this season of the year and to spend it in the woods?
Just before dusk get your sugar painted on the trees, at about the height of your chest, in long narrow strips, taking care not to let any fall at the foot of the tree or amongst the adjacent bushes (though I have sometimes done very well by sugaring low down near the foot of the tree). Just as the nightjars and bats begin to fly you will have finished the last tree of your round, and rapidly retracing your steps to the first you will perhaps see a small moth, with wings raised, rapidly flitting up and down your patch of sugar. This is most probably the “Buff Arches,” usually first to come; in fact, during the summer months, it is perhaps as well to get the sugar on at eight o’clock, as I have known this species, the “Peach Blossom” and the “Crimson Underwings” (Catocala promissa and sponsa), to come on the sugar in bright light while yet the last rays of the sun were lighting the westward side of the tree-trunk, when all the rest lay in shadow.
images/Image187.gifFig. 52 — Impaler.
If you are not facile princeps at “bottling,” do not attempt it with the three or four species named above, but strike them with the net at once, for they are the most skittish of noctuae, especially in the early part of the evening. Striking down such insects with a parchment-covered battledore, which Dr. Guard Knaggs considers inflicts the least injury, or impaling them with a triangle of needles stuck in cork, in the manner shown in Fig. 52, or even with a single darning needle, has been recommended, but after a trial I have come to the conclusion that such plans are clumsy in the extreme.
A little practice will enable the beginner to dispense even with the net, which tends to “rub” such dashing or unquiet insects, and to rapidly cover them with a large cyanide bottle, or, failing this, with the instrument shown in Fig. 53, which is a combination of the “drum” and cyanide bottle, and will be found very useful for skittish insects. A, represents a cyanide bottle with no neck — a wine or ginger-beer bottle cut down, by filing it around, and then tapping it smartly, does very well on an emergency.
images/Image188.gifFig. 53 — Diaphragm bottle.
On this is fixed a tin cylinder, B, having a slot cut in at D, in which a diaphragm, C, works, and is prevented from falling out by a stud fixed to its inside, and from falling inside by the stud above C. To use this, the bottom must be stopped with a cork, through which a piece of stout wire is bolted, the wire to come up to, but just underneath, the slot D, allowing the diaphragm to close. In action this machine is worked thus: Supposing an insect is seen resting on a flat surface, such as palings, a wall, or the trunk of a tree, you having previously removed the cork and pulled the diaphragm out of the slot to its full extent, take aim, as it were, at the insect with the open mouth of B, and rapidly cover him with it. The moth, or what not, as a matter of course, flies toward the light which is at the bottom of the bottle, A; directly it has done so you push in the diaphragm, which of course effectually bottles him up. Now enter the cork in the mouth, B, and pull out the diaphragm again to allow the cork to pass to its place in the mouth of the cyanide bottle, which stopping is of course fatal to the insect.
images/Image189.gifFig. 54 — Sugaring drum.
The “sugaring drum” referred to is thus described and figured by Dr. -Knaggs; and it will be seen that in its main principle it is similar to my diaphragm bottle, sans cyanide:
“This is a hollow metal tube of two or three inches diameter, over one end of which a piece of gauze has been strained, while at the other end a valve, to open and shut the mouth, works in a transverse slit (shown in Fig. 54). To use it we open the valve and deftly place the mouth of the drum over the insect which, in nineteen cases out of twenty, flies towards the gauze. We then seize the opportunity to close the valve, and pushing the corked piston represented at the right side of the figure against it, once more open the valve, and force the capture up to the gauze, through which it may be pinned, and the piston should then be withdrawn with the insect stuck upon it.”
After all, I like nothing so well as working two or three large cyanide bottles in this manner: Get some 6 oz. or 8 oz. bottles, with as large mouths as possible—a confectioner’s small and strong glass jar is about as good a thing as you can get. To this have a cork, cut as tightly as possible, sloping outwards above the bottle some little distance, to afford a good grip. Fill with cyanide as before directed, putting in enough to make the bottles work quickly. When you see one of the restless hovering kind of insects at your sugar, aim at him stealthily, as it were, with the mouth of your bottle, and when near enough rapidly close the mouth over him — ten to one he flies to the light, and with a little management you can contrive to get the bottle recorked. Let him remain in the bottle until stupefied, meanwhile using another bottle. When this is tenanted and the insect drops, gently shake him into the first bottle, using the last to capture the next insect, and so on. By using three bottles you can always have one disengaged, and the bottled insects can thus be allowed to remain a sufficient time to go dead before pinning.
Many insects sit very quietly at the sugar, but some few have a nasty trick of “dropping” at the least alarm; to prevent this, the whipcord of the net (Fig. 43 or Fig. 46), should be always pressed close to the tree to receive them. The cyanide bottle should be held with the left hand, and the insect gently “flicked” in with a disengaged finger, the cork held in the right hand to close the bottle as quickly as possible.
My readers will say, How is the necessary lantern held all this time? Between the teeth by a piece of wood, or leather, fixed round the top or swinging handle; or by being strapped on the chest at the height of the sugar patch. This is, of course, on the assumption that you work solus — not too pleasant if in a lonely wood for three or four days and nights. Unless you are greedy, therefore, and wish to make a regular trade of your loneliness, you will find that a friend, holding the lantern or net while you “bottle,” is not by any means prohibitory to enjoyable collecting. Two working together can get over more ground than one, and what one friend misses, the other stops.
From dusk to eleven on a favourable night in the summer months the fun is fast and furious; thousands of moths of the common sorts come and go; now and then a “good thing” to sweeten the toil. The “Peach Blossoms” and “Buff Arches” slacken at about half-past nine, and do not reappear until exactly the same light reappears in the morning, going on well into the daylight. In fact, I have taken them still coming to the sugar as late as a quarter past three, when the first rays of the sun were just appearing.
This is one of the most curious things about sugaring. The swarming of one species at a certain hour of the night, their almost total disappearance, and their replacement by moths of quite a different genus, giving way again to others; then comes a lull — remarked by everyone — between half-past eleven and one or half-past, then a rush again up to daylight, when they all disappear, save one or two, who remain until they tumble dead drunk off the tree—a shocking example to the wood fairies, who are popularly supposed to draw the line at rum!
Another curious thing is that you may sugar in a wood for years and will always find certain trees unprofitable. I remember one tree in a favourite wood, which tree I sugared for years without taking a single moth from it. You can assign no reason for this, as the unproductive tree may be precisely similar to others on which insects swarm. As a rule, however, rough-barked trees are the best; and smooth, or dead or rotten ones, the worst. Still there is no hard-and-fast line in this.
Failing trees on which to put your sugar, paint palings, walls, bushes, leaves of plants, and even flower heads: or, if working on the seashore, on which several rare and local species are found, “sugar” flat stones, rocks, or even make bundles of the mat weed, as you will have to do on the “denes” of Norfolk or similar places, and sugar them. If you are entirely at a loss for bushes or grasses, soak some pieces of cloth or calico, before leaving home, in the sugar, and peg them down on the ground, or stick them in the crevices of the rocks, if the latter are, from any cause, too wet to hold the sugar.
It often happens that moths will come to sugar, even when not freshly painted on the trees. I remember once taking several Crimson Underwings (C. promissa), and several other things, on sugar which was painted on the trees by a collector four nights before I arrived at the spot. Butterflies and several other things are often attracted by sugared trees, whether old or fresh; and Dr. Knaggs says that by day several butterflies, chiefly Vanessidae, a group comprising the “Peacock,” the “Tortoiseshell,” the “Red Admiral,” the “Painted Lady,” and the “Camberwell Beauty,” have a penchant for the sugar, and may, by this means, be enticed within our reach; and the “Purple Emperor” has thus been frequently entrapped.
Sugaring constantly in the same tract of woodland is certain ultimately to yield something out of the common, for moths have been proved to fly many miles in search of natural or artificial sweets, and even a barren locality may be made exceedingly productive by perseveringly sugaring it.
Some very curious things come to sugar now and then. Such insects as beetles, woodlice, slugs, etc.., are expected as a matter of course, but toads, dormice, and bats — all attracted, however, I suspect, as much by the insects as the sugar — you do not expect, nor the sundry caterpillars which you occasionally can catch sipping at the sweet juice. The Hawk moths and Bombyces are popularly supposed not to come, but I have a distinct recollection of catching, near Woolwich, many years ago, a “goat moth” certainly “inspecting” the sugar, and analogous but isolated instances now and then occur.
In the grey of the morning, when sugaring is finished, it will be as well to keep your eye on the hedgerows or heaths you may pass, as occasionally certain insects swarm at an early hour, and now and then important captures may be made.
Before dismissing the subject of sugaring, it may be as well to say a few words on lanterns and chip boxes. With regard to the first, bull’s eyes are generally recommended. Possibly, I may be prejudiced against them when I say that I think they concentrate the glare of light too suddenly and in too narrow a focus, causing thereby many insects to drop, which the broader stream of light from an ordinary lantern does not appear to do to such an extent.
I recommend, therefore, a medium-sized ordinary lantern, about 7 in. high by 4.5 in. by 3.5 in back to front, fitted with a double-wicked reservoir, holding sufficient oil to burn seven or eight hours. A screw cap should be fitted over the burners to prevent the oil running out and spoiling everything with which the lantern may be packed when travelling. The usual plate glass door should be made to open from the front, the glass sides, however, being replaced with bright metal, converging the rays from a strong reflector at the back; a swing handle should be fixed at the top and two at the back, all folding close to the lantern when not in use.
Plenty of ventilation, without allowing actual wind to penetrate, should be provided, and only the best colza oil be used. If made to order, a great advantage will be found in having the right-hand side to open outwards (from the back) instead of opening on the front, as the lantern can then be more easily trimmed when strapped on the body without the necessity of its removal for that purpose.
The chip boxes, which some entomologists use instead of the cyanide bottle to take the moths off the trees, are simply the various sized ointment boxes of the druggist, strengthened by papering, or by pieces of glued linen crossing them. Many use them, chiefly those of the old school, in preference to anything else — De gustibus, etc..
The objections to a general use of these boxes are many. First, you must provide yourself with a large bagful or pocketful of these boxes on starting out, as one moth only goes in each box, leaving one pocket empty on the reverse side of your coat to receive the boxes when filled, in order not to mix the empty with the full ones. Second, you are not quite sure at night as to “rubbed” or “chipped” specimens, and may find in the morning your boxes filled with worthless things, which a brief introduction to the cyanide bottle would long before have revealed.
Third, the most important fact, that though there are many insects which rest quietly when boxed, there is a large percentage which pass the time of their captivity in madly dashing themselves against the walls of their prison, and a boxed insect of this turn of mind presents a sorry sight in the morning, many stages, in fact, on the wrong side of “shabby-genteel.” Then when, after a night’s severe work, you are limping home in the morning, thinking how cold it is — until roused to action by the appearance of some unexpected insect — then, indeed, how much more cold and hollow seems the world, when, suddenly catching your tired foot in a stump or tangle of grass, you roll over on the full pocket side and hear (and feel) the boxes burst up on the unhappy moths within. I have gone through it all, and I don’t like it!
ASSEMBLING - I had almost forgotten to mention another extraordinary way of catching moths (chiefly Bombyces), by what is called “assembling,” which is exposing in a gauze-covered box a virgin female, who, by some mysterious power “calls” the males of the same species around her in so infatuated a manner that they will even creep into the collector’s pocket in their quest of the hidden charmer.
In a highly interesting paper in the “Country,” of 2nd Oct., 1873, Dr. Guard Knaggs gave a very full account of the theory and practice of “assembling,” so interesting, indeed, that I venture to reproduce it in extenso. He says:
“The generally accepted theory is that each female should, at one or other period of her existence, captivate at least one of the opposite sex, though it will be found by experience that some species possess a far more potent influence for this purpose than others.
“It may be set down as a rule that females which are captured at rest during the time of day or night at which they should naturally be upon the wing are unimpregnated, and may be used for attracting with fair chances of success. There may be exceptions to this rule; my opinion inclines to the belief that the butterflies take wing before impregnation; but of this I am certain, namely, that the females of butterflies — at any rate of certain species — have considerable influence over the males. Doubtless, too, there are many skittish Geometrae or slender-bodied moths, and Pyrales, or Pearls, which are easily frightened, the females of which will rush from their places of concealment even before they are prepared to start on the mission of ovipositing. The converse of this rule, that female insects captured on the wing are almost invariably impregnated, may be taken as an axiom, at least so far as the moth tribe is concerned. Of course females which have made their appearance in our breeding cages are the most eligible for the purpose of attraction; but whenever we breed these with the intention of using them for attracting, we must bear well in mind that the rearing process, whether from the chrysalis, the caterpillar, or the egg, must be conducted under surrounding conditions of temperature, etc.., as nearly as possible resembling those to which they would be subjected in their natural state. Otherwise, if we retard their appearance by keeping our breeding-cages in too cool a situation, we shall be too late for our sport, or at best capture only worn specimens; while, if we force them by an unnatural state of warmth, the males will not have made their appearance at large by the time we are ready to arrive upon the hunting-ground. Having furnished ourselves with a bred female, the next procedure will be to construct a cage for her reception in such a manner that the males will be compelled to keep within a respectful distance, and formed of such material as will permit the air to readily permeate the sides of the prison.
images/Image190.gifFig. 55 — Assembling cage.
“The cage (Fig. 55) adapted to our requirements is a very simple affair; it is formed by bending our three strips of cane of about equal lengths each into the form of a circle, and fixing them in that form by means of twine; these three circular pieces are then placed in such a manner that they cross one another at right angles (Fig. 55), thereby forming the rudimentary outline of a hollow sphere, over which it is an easy matter to stretch and tie a piece of leno. When required for use the female may be put in, either loose or clinging to a twig of the length of the diameter of the globe, and the leno tied afterwards.
“The theory of the peculiar action of the female upon the senses of the males is usually considered to be due to a subtle scent which emanates from her, and is wafted on the breeze to distant parts; and it is believed that by means of this scented track the males are enabled to discover the whereabouts of the object of their search. And that this would appear to be the true solution, no one who has witnessed the grand spectacle of the ‘Kentish Glories’ or the ‘Emperor’ moths coming up against the wind can, I should say, for a moment doubt.
“To be attractive the female must be in that condition which is known by the fraternity as ‘calling,’ that is, she should be slightly convulsed with tremor, and the last segment of the body should be denuded of fur. Then, if the weather be propitious — bright for such males as fly in the sunshine, warm at dusk for those whose hour of flight commences with the shades of evening — and if also the wind be blowing steadily from a favourable quarter, such as west, south, or a gentle south-west, we may reasonably hope for success.
“But the young collector must remember that it does not by any means follow that because he captures a female, say an ‘Oak eggar,’ on the wing in the evening, he has detected the time of flight of the males. In fact, it very frequently happens that the males fly in the daytime and the females in the evening.
“In the case of species which inhabit open parts of the country, such as moors, mosses, commons, chases, fens, and fields, we should take care that no obstacle is in the way to prevent the current of air from carrying the scent freely over the locality. On the other hand, if it be the inmates of a wood or copse which we are desirous of attracting, we must either select a ride down which the wind finds its way, or else we shall have to allow the breeze to convey the scent from some part of the surrounding country to the outskirts of the wood.
“As a rule, it is quite sufficient for our ends to lay the baited cage upon the ground, and then to lie down at a little distance off and keep watch. But in some cases it is advisable to tie the cage to the trunk or branch of a tree, or to fix it in a bush. I have found the latter very effective with the red-belted apple clearwing (Sesia myopiformis), and no doubt it would also prove so with other species of the class.
“Any Londoner who would like to judge for himself can easily manage it. He has only, in the first place, to hunt about in his own or some one else’s garden for a handsome little caterpillar, of a blackish colour, spotted with pink, with four rows of thick tufts of yellowish hairs resembling brushes upon its back, with two long tufts of blackish hairs pointing forwards in front, almost like horns, and a similar one behind pointing backwards, something like a tail. It eats almost anything, and is easily reared.
When full fed it spins a web, in which it changes to a chrysalis; and, in time, from some of the cocoons thus formed, spider-like creatures will emerge and attach themselves to the outer part of the web. These should at once be removed (web and all), and placed securely in the cage already mentioned, when, if there be any males about, I will warrant it will not be long before the proprietor has a very tolerable idea of what is meant by attracting by the bred female.”
COLLECTING AND REARING LARVAE. — Very many insects are more easily collected in the larval or caterpillar stage than in the perfect one. Every tree, bush, or plant, the grass, and even the lichens growing on trees or walls, produce some larvae feeding on it. It would, I feel, be a work of supererogation to attempt to give detailed descriptions of food-plants and the insects feeding on them, when we have a book so good and cheap to fall back on as “Merrin’s Lepidopterist’s Calendar,” which gives the times of appearance of butterflies and moths in all their stages, with localities and the food-plants of the larvae, and this for every month of the year.
For bringing caterpillars home, a larvae box is necessary; this should, if possible, be made of a cylinder of wire gauze or perforated zinc (see Fig. 56), capped top and bottom with zinc, the bottom a fixture, the top to lift off, dished inward towards an orifice with a tube soldered in it, which is kept corked until it is wanted to drop larvae down it. The tube coming well through into the cylinder, and narrowing inside to half its diameter at the top, prevents anything escaping, even if the cork should be left out, and also prevents the swarming out of the enclosed larvae, which would take place if the top were lifted off bodily.
Wooden canisters, such as tobacco is often stored in, make very good substitutes if small holes are bored in the side. Tin canisters, or, indeed, anything made entirely of metal, unless plenty of ventilation is afforded, as in Fig. 56, have a tendency to cause the enclosed larvae to sweat.
Some few hints as to collecting larvae may not be unacceptable. In the spring, just as the buds of various low plants and bushes break forth, they should be searched by night, by the aid of a lantern, for the larvae of various noctuae and geometrae then feeding. The best plants to search will be the mountain ash, bilberry, honeysuckle, and bramble, given in their order of merit. Many other plants may be advantageously searched, in fact, all low plants and bushes ought to be well looked over by the persevering collector.
Later on, sweeping, i.e., pushing a strong ring net through the grass, may be resorted to. The net for this should be made of strong wire in the shape of the net at Fig. 46, or 43, if without the joints, a bag of strong dowlas and a stick are attached, and the front square-ended part is pushed by the collector through the grass, in order to trap any low feeding or invisible insects. When the leaves are fully out on the trees, beating will shake many larvae, pupae, certain moths, beetles, etc.., into the net or sheet spread to receive them, Both sweeping and beating may be practised by night as by day.
The situations in which larvae are found are many, some rolling themselves in nettle, oak, or other leaves; others boring into the substance of the wood itself, and some feeding in the stems of various bushes, plants, reeds, etc.. For life histories of such consult the pages of the Entomologist’s Monthly Magazine, or Entomologist, both published every month at 6d. each; or Newman’s “British Butterflies” and “British Moths,” published as complete volumes at. 7s. 6d. and 20s. respectively. These latter are the finest works at the price in any language whatever, giving figures — perfect specimens of the wood engraver’s art — of the whole of the Macro-Lepidoptera, backed up by exhaustive descriptions.
images/Image191.gifFig. 56 — Cage for collecting larvae.
“Digging” in the dead months of the year, when the weather is mild, for pupae, is another method of getting insects. Corners where roots meet or spring from the trunks of trees, are good “harbours of refuge” for pupae; so are inner angles of walls, underneath sheltered hedgerows, or under isolated trees in parks or meadows, and a host of other spots.
The best places for “digging” are not always, as you would suppose, in the thickest parts of woods or shrubberies, but under skirting trees or in avenues. The best times for pupae are from October to January. Many people attain great proficiency in finding — the Rev. Joseph Greene, to wit. For my own part I must confess that I have never “earned my salt” at it, but that is possibly due to want of skill or perseverance.
The tools required are simply a trowel, a curved piece of steel fitted in a handle, or a three-cornered instrument similar to, but smaller than, the scraper used by shipwrights; anything, in fact, handy to carry, and efficacious in scratching up the sod at the roots of trees, or tearing off the pseudo-knots of bark which veil the pupae of various moths.
When larvae or pupae are brought home, it will be necessary to place them in something which, though retaining them in captivity, yet allows them as natural conditions of living as is possible in a circumscribed space. Pupae, may be kept in a flower pot covered with earth, or in moss damped from time to time with water of not too cold a temperature. Over the flower pot may be strained two pieces of wire or cane, crossing each other in the form of arches, the whole covered with muslin; or a handier plan to get to the insects quickly when emerged, or to damp the pupae, is to procure from the glass merchant the waste cylinders of glass cut from shades, pasting over one end with “leno” or muslin, and placing the other in the flower pot on top of the earth or moss.
This also makes a cheap substitute for the breeding cage for larvae, if a little earth only is put in the flower pot in which a bottle of water is placed containing the food plant. Wire gauze cylinders are handy as affording plenty of air to delicate larvae. Bandboxes with a square piece cut out from the top lid, the hole thus made covered with muslin, will do very well for breeding a quantity of a hardy common sort.
images/Image192.gifFig. 57 — Insect breeding cage
The usual wooden breeding cage is shown at Fig. 57. This requires hardly any explanation: A is a glass door, B B B are sides and top of perforated zinc, C is a tray fitting inside, where dotted lines are shown, to hold the earth in which the bottle of water holding food is placed, or where the larvae bury themselves to change to pupae. Properly, the inner tray of box C should be constructed of zinc perforated with a few holes at the bottom, in order that it may be lifted out to allow the pupae to be well damped when “forcing.” 8
“Forcing” is a method adopted to cause any moth to emerge at the collector’s will, and several months before its proper time, it having been proved that certain moths more than others die in the chrysalis or pupa state if left to go their full time, notably the “Death’s Head,” the “Spurge,” and other hawks. The best time for forcing is about Christmas, and the conditions are simply heat and moisture, the pupae being placed over a spirit lamp, in a hothouse, on the kitchen mantelpiece, or by the fire grate even, kept for a week or so at a temperature of 85 deg. or thereabout, and constantly damped with moss wrung out in warm water. Bear in mind that heat without moisture will not do by any means.
The breeding cage itself need not be used, but only the tray, provided that gauze is stretched over in such a manner as to allow room for the moth to dry its wings on emergence. But if the whole of the breeding cage were made of framed zinc (such as aquaria are made of), and the glass and perforated zinc fixed in, the cost, though greater at first, would be more than counterbalanced by its greater strength, with lightness and capability of resisting wear and tear, added to which is the advantage of being used as a whole during the operation of “forcing,” wood not standing, of course, the heat and moisture necessary. Breeding cages should not be painted.
Fresh food, and plenty of it, should, if possible, be supplied to the larvae. Dry food is, as a rule, the best, though the larvae of one or two of the foreign Saturnidae require their food to be sprinkled with water, and sometimes even with the addition of salt, to make them thrive. Moths on emergence should not be killed at once, as they are then too flaccid, and have not sufficiently purged themselves. Yet they should not be left too long or over night, as they often fly at that time, and knock themselves about in the cage, to the detriment of their beauty; destroying, in fact, the whole aim and end of breeding, which is of course, instituted to procure specimens for the cabinet as fine as it is possible to get them.
In collecting insects it is always as well to bear in mind that a “worn” female, though not of the slightest use to the entomologist, unless she can be induced to lay in confinement, may become the progenitor of many, and may thus afford you during the next season great pleasure in collecting. This being so, I should like to impress upon my readers (the young especially) the propriety of giving all insects, not actually noxious, heir liberty, if on examination they prove to be useless as specimens. These remarks apply also to the case of hybernated females. Many female insects, though unwilling to lay in confinement, may be watched at large, and the flowers and plants on which they have from time to time rested, searched for their eggs.
In concluding this chapter, I feel that I might have said much more upon nearly every section — have explained many new “dodges,” and so forth, were it not that the limit of space has been reached. One thing, however, may be noted as an omission, and that is the recommendation as to what books should be procured by the young entomologist. This is so difficult a matter — depending entirely upon the aim of the individual — that I prefer to leave it an open question, merely making the general statement that nearly all our advanced systems are founded upon the labours of German and French entomologists. 9
CHAPTER XVI.
ON NATURAL HISTORY MUSEUMS, WITH SPECIAL REFERENCE TO A NEW SYSTEM OF PICTORIAL ARRANGEMENT OF VERTEBRATES.
I MUST confess that, at one time, the consideration of the best method of dealing to advantage with the limited space usually existing in the older provincial museums would have dismayed me. Even at that time, however, I had glimmerings of the brighter light which has since illumined the way, and I was, perhaps, aided by the persistent manner in which I haunted museums both abroad and at home, until at last I never went on a journey without managing to break it, or to make it end at the then summum bonum of my happiness — a museum.
Like Diogenes, I went about with my lamp to find, not an honest man, but an honest museum — a museum with some originality, and with some definite idea as to its sphere of work. Leaving out, of course, such complete and technical institutions as the Museum of Geology, the Museum of the College of Surgeons, and such institutions which really have a motive in view — steadfastly adhered to — I saw, then as now, that every provincial museum was nothing if left to its own devices, and, if “inspired,” was, at the best, but a sorry and servile imitator of the worst points of our national museum.
Everyone must have observed, no doubt, in any provincial museum which dates back thirty or forty years, that the great curse of the collection, so to speak, is sketchy versatility. In walking through the usually “dry-as-dust” collections you find numbers of very atrociously-rendered mammals, a greater sprinkling of funereal and highly-disreputable birds, some extremely-protracted fishes, some chipped insects, and a lot of shells, chiefly marine, which suggest association with the word “stores.” I allude to those odds and ends which people do not want themselves, and which are, therefore, so kindly brought as an offering — would I might say a “burnt” one — to any institution so reckless of consequences as to admit them.
Nearly all museums of early days were imitators of the British Museum, whilst those of later days affect the newer treatment of South Kensington. Hence, in walking through any museum, a technical observer can easily detect the sources of inspiration and the lines of demarcation between the old and the new. Really it amounts to this, that hardly any institution in England thinks for itself. Museum authorities, like sheep, follow the lead of the most ancient bell-wether; and the reason of this is not far to seek. Curators, as a rule, are men with one hobby — “one-horse” men, as the Americans so aptly put it- “sometimes wise, sometimes otherwise,” but in many cases totally devoid of that technical education so much needed in reconciling the divergent atoms of the institutions they represent; in fact, head and hand seldom work together.
Often, owing to the want of technical advice, money is wasted in more than one department, cases are too highly paid for, and have not been thought out sufficiently as to their fitness for their future contents, or the position in which they are to be placed, or the more fatal error has been perpetrated of considering them as merely units of a certain department instead of parts of a whole. I contend that if it be necessary for a civil engineer or other professional man to have mastered the various technicalities of his profession, it is also incumbent on curators to have done or to do likewise, in order that they may grasp the treatment of their museum as a whole, and not fall into the grave fault of working up one department whilst ignoring the others.
Nothing is more distasteful to my mind than that a man in the position of a curator should impertinently ride one single hobby to death, to the utter exclusion and detriment of all other branches of knowledge entrusted to his care. What is the sum total of this? In looking around any museum of old standing we see twenty different styles and colours of cases, which may be briefly summarized as representing the eocene, miocene, and pliocene formation of cases; space has been wasted, or not utilized as it might be, and the result is a confused jumble of odds and ends, consequent on some persons considering that the end and aim of a museum should be the preservation of “bullets” collected by “Handy-Andy” from the field of “Arrah-na-Pogue,” “My Grandfather’s Clock,” and so on.
This is certainly not the mission of any museum, nor should it lay itself out with avidity to collect disjointed scraps of savage life, such as portraits of the “ladies” who ate cold savage and who — horresco referens! — “drank his blood.” 10
Such a museum object as this, awfully, yet ludicrously, reminds me of that showman who enticed his audience in with — “Here you’ll see the Duke of Vellington at the battle of Vauterloo, with the blood all a-runnen down his fut,”’ or of poor little “Totty” (in “Helen’s Babies”), who loved to hear about “B’liaff” and his headlessness, and the sword that was all “bluggy.” This is, I think, one of the mistakes which most museums fall into. They collect a vast quantity of rubbish utterly useless to anyone but a schoolboy or a showman, and in consequence they find valuable space wasted to make way for tops of teapots, bits of leather, Kaffirs’ or Zulus’ knives made in Sheffield, native ornaments, in beads and brass, made in Birmingham, and such-like members of the great family of “curios.” All such as these should be firmly and respectfully declined without thanks. 11
I have spoken, in somewhat sacrilegious terms, of imitation of the worst points of the old British Museum and of South Kensington (I don’t mean the new Natural History Galleries, but artistic South Kensington); but perhaps I may be forgiven when I state that I consider, and always considered, the weakest part of our old natural history galleries at Bloomsbury was the arrangement of all the mammals, birds, etc.., in that provokingly “fore-and-aft” manner (spoken of before), on uninteresting stands or perches (hat-pegs) such as the skeletons in Plates II. and III. are represented on.
This, which was, perhaps, inevitable in a national collection professedly showing to the public every species of bird and mammal in the least possible space, is unpardonable in a provincial museum, which has not the task imposed upon it of attempting to vie with the national collection in point of numbers. Provincial museums, then, if electing to show only animals collected in their immediate vicinity or county (which some authorities—of whom anon — say is the only raison d’être of a provincial museum), or, if electing to supplement these by showing a few foreign forms of striking appearance, fall into grievous error by mounting the necessarily few specimens they can get together on “hat-pegs,” simply because the national collection, with which they are not on “all fours,” sets them the bad example in this.
Now for South Kensington: the imitation I decry is that of black, or black-and-gold cases, suitable the exhibition of art treasures, but objectionable for natural history objects, which, usually dreary enough in their abject condition on pegs, are rendered more funereal by their black, or black-and-gold surroundings; yet, with these obvious disadvantages, what do we see in some provincial museums? — a servile adoption of South Kensington “ebonized” cases, without any reference to fitness. It is positively painful to see elaborately carved and gilded cases, costing, perhaps, a hundred guineas a-piece, entombing a few wretchedly-mounted specimens worth, perhaps, less than £5 the lot.
I have technical objections to “ebonized” cases, which I am sure have been lost sight of by all but the makers of such articles. These are — first, that if deal, or pine, or common cedar is used to make the cases with, they will shrink, lose colour, or be easily chipped or dinted, becoming in a short time useless and shabby; and, on the other hand, if made by first-class makers out of good mahogany, afterwards blacked or “ebonized,” their price is enormous, and out of all proportion to their appearance, added to which they get worn on their edges in a short time and show the mahogany underneath in reddish, rust-coloured streaks on their most prominent parts.
How ridiculous, then, does it seem to cover up serviceable and handsome (and expensive) mahogany with a coat of black simply for the sake of getting an effect which is, to say the least, depressing!
Well, you will say, you have fallen foul of the fundamental principles of nearly all museums — black cases, and animals on “hat-pegs.” What do you propose?
I propose, in the first place, mahogany, walnut, or oak cases; and, in the second place, the pictorial mounting of all specimens, and not only do I propose it, but I claim in the Leicester Museum to have done on a large scale what has hitherto been applied to small matters only. First, as to the wood; I delight in oak, and, although I know how much more liable it is to “twist” than first-class mahogany, yet if of good picked quality, dry and sound, and properly tongued and framed, there is not much to fear, and its light and elegant appearance is a great gain in a large room, added to this it improves by age and is practically indestructible.
Now for the pictorial mounting of specimens; and here let me say that, for any person to lay down a hard-and-fast line as to what natural history specimens should be, or should not be, collected by provincial natural history museums as a whole, is about as sensible a plan as saying that a nation as a whole must drink nothing but beer or nothing but water. It is apparently forgotten that general principles cannot apply to museums ranging in size from 20 ft. by 12 ft. to that of Liverpool with its several large rooms, each one larger than the entire “museum” of small towns.
I think it may be laid down as a common-sense proceeding that, if a provincial museum consists of only one or two rooms of the size above given, the managers should strictly confine themselves to collecting only the fossils, animals, and plants of their own district. If, however, like Leicester, they possess a zoological room 80 ft. in length by 40 ft. in width, and of great height, together with smaller rooms, then the proposition to strictly confine themselves to local forms is unwise in the extreme. How would it be possible to fill so much cubic space with the few specimens — even if extended unwarrantably, and elaborately mounted — which many years of arduous collecting might obtain? Taking the list of vertebrates of any midland county, how many of them do we find could be collected if we left out of count the “accidentals?” Here is a list: Fishes, 26; reptiles, 10; birds, 110; * mammals, 26 (the fox being the largest of these). 12
It would be impossible to fill the wall-cases, if properly proportioned, with these few, even given all the favourable conditions of procuring the “accidentals” and varieties, under ten years. It is quite true, also, that the contemplation of purely local fauna, though giving interest to, and holding undue importance in the eyes of a few men, who narrow their views to their own county (which, perhaps, they believe in to such an extent as to seldom pass its boundaries), is misleading and even possibly damaging to the student of biology, who must be shown, in the clearest possible manner, the affinities — say, of such a well-known bird as the heron, which a local collection will tell him, by means of a huge and unblushing label, is a “Blankshire bird,” shot somewhere in the vicinity; not a word is said as to its being also a “British” bird and also a “Foreign” bird, the heron ranging throughout every county in Britain, throughout Europe, the greater part of Africa and Asia, and even penetrating into Australia.
The remedy for this is a typical “general” collection — running around the room, let us say — and a “local” collection entirely distinct and separate.
First, in the structural necessities of a museum, I place well-lighted rooms — preferably from the top. Of course, side windows, though giving an increase of light, yet by that very increase become objectionable by making cross lights, which the sheets of glass enclosing the various objects tend to multiply; next, the colour of the walls — this is very important. Some museums have blue or Pompeian-red* walls, under the impression that it suits certain objects; in the instances of pictures or statuary, etc.., it may be right, but, for natural history objects, nothing suits them and shows them up better than a light neutral tint - one of the tertiaries — lightened considerably, until it arrives at a light stone, very light sage, or pale slate colour. 13
The pilasters, if any, must be ignored, and blended into the walls by being painted of the same colour as the remainder; otherwise, the first things which strike the observer on entering are the walls and pilasters, and not the objects; whereas the impression to be secured on the mind should be exactly the reverse of this, for be sure that, if the colour of the walls be noticed at all by the casual visitor, something is radically wrong. This is one of the reasons why I prefer light oak wall-cases to anything else, by their being so unobtrusive, and not dividing the room so sharply into squares as the black and gold. I venture to say that the first thing noticeable on entering the zoological-room at Leicester is the form and colour of the objects, and this is as it should be.
Having now got light in the rooms from the top and, possibly, from the north, supplemented by, and radiating from, the light walls and ceiling, we, having our oak cases in position, must glaze them with as large sheets of plate glass as are manageable or as we can afford; a very handy size is-say, 8 ft. in height by 5 ft. 4 in. in breadth, this prevents cutting up the enclosed specimens by many bars, enclosing small panes, so prevalent in the older museums, also, of course, adding greatly to the general effect. The backs of the wall cases should be, if the specimens are mounted on pegs, of some light tint slightly contrasting with that of the walls, or, if the specimens are to be pictorially treated, with softly graduated skies applicable to each group.
Perhaps a sketch of the treatment of the zoological-room of Leicester Museum would help the reader to grasp the facts of the case better. In the first place, the walls were cut for more windows, at a height of 12 ft. above the floor, the top light not being sufficient nor properly available, nor end lights obtainable, owing to the structural defects of the existing building; the ceiling was then whitewashed, and walls painted of a nice warm stone colour, quite unobtrusive in itself; the artificial light was provided for by twelve gas pendants* of twenty-four lights each, i.e., eight arms, each holding three burners. The heating — a most important matter, not only for the comfort of visitors, but for the proper preservation of the specimens — was managed by hot-water coils running around the walls under the cases. 14
The cases themselves were framed in oak, rising 10 ft. from the floor, thus — 1 ft. 3.5 in. of plinth and frames, enclosing panelled gratings to allow the hot air to escape; on this the wooden bottoms of the range was built; then 3.5 in. and 3 in. frame at bottom and top, enclosing 7 ft. 6 in. space for glass, and 8 in. frieze moulding; the divisions of each were arranged to suit the space at disposal to represent all orders of vertebrates.
The doors or sashes were round-headed and glazed with plate glass, three plates of which were 7 ft. 6 in. by 4 ft. 4.5 in.; eight, 7 ft. 6 in. by 4 ft. 6 in.; eleven, 7 ft. 6 in. by 5 ft. 1 in.; eleven, 7 ft. 6 in. by 5 ft. 2.5 in.; one, 7 ft. 6 in. by 4 ft. 7.5 in.; and three, 7 ft. 6 in. by 4 ft. 1 in.; thirty-seven plates in all. All but twelve of the cases were 2 ft. 6 in. from back to front, these twelve being 3 ft. from back to front, all glazed at the top, to admit light, by glass fixed in iron T-pieces at intervals of 2 ft. 6 in., making two divisions.
To these, two cases were subsequently added; one, 7 ft. 6 in. by 2 ft. 6 in.; the other, 7 ft. 6 in. by 6 ft. The division frames, being rebated and lined with “moleskin,” had the sashes, previously glazed from the inside, lifted in and screwed to them, the screw heads being hidden by turned “buttons” of oak. I objected to these doors or sashes being hung in the ordinary manner, it being so difficult to hinge large and weighty frames without danger of “twisting” or of straining the surrounding parts, to say nothing of the almost impossibility of keeping dust from getting in through hinged doors; accordingly it was felt that, although there might be a little inconvenience in unscrewing the eight or ten screws which held them in their places, yet that the trouble of their removal, not being an every-day occurrence, in any instance, would be more than compensated by the increased strength, and air and dust-proof advantages.
(That these predictions were justified is proved by the fact that the cases, being filled, were opened at the end of 1883 to allow of their contents being photographed-without the intervention of glass-and the air which then issued from them was strongly charged with turpentine and other agents used about the birds, and the rockwork, nearly two years before, whilst not a particle of dust was observable anywhere.)
These cases were, as regards workmanship, strongly and well made by a local man, working under my direction, and although, of course, lacking the minute finish of such champions of case-making as Sage, yet, taking into consideration that quite 300 pounds was saved in the construction, we may be fairly proud of our success.
Regarding the classification of the vertebrates, it was admitted on all hands that we might take Huxley as our standpoint; but I felt that, in this age of specialists, we ought to be guided by those who, taking the labours of the leading physiologists and men of science for their groundwork, compiled, so to speak, from these results, and being anatomists and men of great learning themselves, were generally accepted throughout the world as the leading exponents of the branch of biology they represented.
Accordingly the plan was sketched out, and, selecting Professor W. H. Flower, F.R.S., the president of the College of Surgeons, for the mammals; Dr. P. L. Sclater, F.R.S., secretary of the Zoological Society, for the birds; and Dr. a. C. Guenther, F.R.S., chief of the British Museum, for the reptiles and fishes, I submitted my plans to each gentleman, who did me the honour to return them corrected where necessary. Since then I have slightly modified where the latest views of these great men have undergone some slight change; and now the scheme of our zoological room is as in the accompanying plan (see Plate).
Of course, for purposes of convenience and reference, a linear arrangement has been adopted, but it will not be necessary to point out that no actual linear arrangement can exist in nature, the chain being broken, not only in links, but by large portions being twisted off. Rather may we liken biology to a tree whose branches ramify in many directions from the main trunk of life.
The classification — superseding the old, unscientific Vigorsian and other systems, founded on external characteristics — being decided on, the style of mounting of the specimens had to be settled. The “peg” system was to be discarded; but here occurred the most serious hitch of all. In accordance with the plan now being pursued in many provincial museums, it was wished by one party to elevate the local exhibits into undue importance, at the expense of general zoology, by taking up much more of the room at disposal than was practicable or necessary.
The suggestion was to furnish cases of a certain size, one or more of which was to be devoted to each order of animals. Taking birds (for convenience) as the standpoint, we were to place on the ground line “local” birds, male and female, with nest and young, and eggs, mounted with appropriate accessories, in the most complete and artistic manner. This division taking up 3 ft. 6 in. in height out of a possible 8 ft., leaving 4 ft. 6 in. to be disposed of thus — another division for “British” birds which have never been found in the locality.
These “British” were to be in pairs, but not very well mounted, and without nests and young. Above these, again, another line, exhibiting a few of the most striking typical foreign birds. These “Foreign” birds were not to be well mounted, but plain “stuffed.” It was claimed for this that “each order would be distinct, and that there would be the best opportunity of comparing the local birds with those of Britain generally and of the whole world, while a real notion of the life of birds would be conveyed by the full portraiture of those forms with which the local visitors would be most familiar, making them distinct items of knowledge in a manner scarcely ever attempted, and, in fact, almost impossible with the usual methods of arrangement.
It is an elastic system, admitting of many variations, while retaining the fundamental principle; and of all really effective systems it is the least expensive, because it depends mainly upon objects procurable in the locality. The Leicestershire species should occupy the ground line, and come up to the front. The British species should be set back 8 in. to 12 in., and the Foreign 15 in. to 18 in.; but these limits might be occasionally infringed where it seems necessary.”
To give the reader an idea of how disproportionate these divisions would be when comparing “local” with “foreign,” see the diagram (Fig. 58), representing one division or “bay” marked on Plan.
images/Image194.gifFig. 58 — Projected arrangement of a biological collection by “Scheme A.”
Again, it was urged that “The three sections should be divided horizontally, but the lines of division need not be straight. They may be broken so as to preserve the pictorial effect, but not to destroy the division.”
Regarding this part of the contention, it is only necessary to point out that no “pictorial effects” were possible under such a system, which is really a lucus a non lucendo.
By this scheme, we have “local” birds at bottom (very well arranged), “British” next (not so well arranged), and “foreign” at top (not well arranged at all), and these arbitrary and totally unnatural divisions were supposed to “drive home the truths of natural history into the minds of casual visitors,” to be “applicable to all the departments of a museum, so that, if it were adopted, a uniform plan might be carried through the collections from end to end, giving a systematic completeness which is rarely found in museums at the present time. It utilises the breaks and blank spaces in every series.”
Never was there a more impracticable theory broached. The whole arrangement was based on an utter disregard of the requirements of science, leaving out art altogether, and, worse still, upon an utter ignorance of first principles of zoology. May I ask if anyone can define a “local” bird from a “British” bird, or a “British” bird from a “foreign” bird? Lastly, every one should know that every bird found in Leicestershire is a “British” bird, and that every “British” bird is a “foreign” one; and that each of these imaginary divisions is being constantly recruited from the division immediately above it. 15
For instance, the golden eagle is not a “local” bird, but it may be so to-morrow, should one stray from North Britain, as they sometimes do, and be shot by some person within the boundary of the county. It then becomes “local”! This bird, which is as distinctly “foreign” — being found in Europe, North Africa, America, etc.. — as it is “British”! Put this in, or leave it out of the “local” division, and what does it teach?
Arguing per contra, the osprey has been killed in our own county more than once; it is thus “local;” it is also “British,” nesting in North Britain; it is also distinctly “foreign,” being found positively in every quarter of the globe — in Australia even — sharing with the common barn owl the distinction of being actually cosmopolitan.
In which division are we to place this? It is “local,” and yet cannot be mounted in that division, with its nest and young, because it has never bred in the Midlands; but it has bred in North Britain, and might be shown in the “British” division fully displayed; but, says this contention, which I have called “Scheme A,” no “British” specimens shall be mounted with nest and young!
Being “foreign,” it should also come in the “Foreign” division. What, then, can this teach? Either the bird must be repeated in all three divisions, or it must, according to the foregoing, appear only in the “local” division, thus acting an ornithological lie, and leading the unlearned to believe that it is a very rare bird, peculiar only to Leicestershire. These examples might be repeated ad nauseam. The sparrow, the swallow, the kingfisher, the heron, the wild duck, the wood-pigeon, the pheasant, the coot, the woodcock, the terns, the gulls, etc.., are some common forms which occur to me.
Again, there are five orders of birds not represented in Leicestershire, nor in England even. These contain nearly five hundred species. Are these to be entirely eliminated from the collection? or does it teach anything to put cards in the “Local” or “British” divisions of the parrot cases to say that no parrots occur (out of cages) in either Leicestershire or Britain? Again, what can this teach?
Well, we will take a representative group — say, the order Gallinae, or game-birds, and, taking our own county of Leicestershire as an example, we shall find that, although there are nearly four hundred species of this order known, but eleven at the very outside are claimed as having occurred in Britain, whilst but three of these are commonly found in the county. I give their names and values under each heading:
| LOCAL. | BRITISH. | FOREIGN. | |
| Ptarmigan | No. | Yes. | Yes. |
| Red Grouse | Has occurred. | Yes. | Yes.[Footnote: Formerly indigenous to Britain, but now found in Sweden, etc..] |
| Capercaillie | No. | Yes. | Yes. |
| Black Grouse | Has occurred. | Yes. | Yes. |
| Pheasant | Yes. | Yes. | Yes. |
| Red-legged Partridge | Yes. | Yes. | Yes. |
| Barbary Partridge | Said to have once occurred | Doubtful. | Yes. |
| Partridge | Yes. | Yes. | Yes. |
| Virginian Colin | No. | Doubtful. | Yes. |
| Quail | Has occurred. | Yes. | Yes. |
| Andalusian Hemipode | No. | Doubtful. | Yes. |
Or, putting it into a tabular form, as if supposing that the whole four hundred known species could be shown, we should have it presented thus:
ORDER — GALLINAE.
(400 SPECIES.)
| 389 | ........400 | FOREIGN. | |
| 8.... | .... 11 | ............ | BRITISH. |
| 3.... | ........ | ............ | LOCAL. |
That is to say, that, although it was wished to claim the 3 ft. 6 in. division in height, of indefinite length (really ten feet when worked out) for the three “local” birds, yet it will be seen by the foregoing tables that those three “locals” would do equally as well if placed in the “British” division, and the sum total of the “local” and “British” might be placed correctly with all the rest in the “foreign.” Why, then, should valuable space be wasted for three birds, simply to perpetuate an error in working out a crotchet?
The question again arose, What could such a “model” system as this teach? This was effectually answered by a specimen case, representing the above, being fitted up, when the glaring errors of the proposed system were at once evident, there being fully a space of 10 ft. x 3 ft. 6 in. x 2 ft. 6 in. = 87.5 ft. cube, devoted to five birds only — three of which were not now found in the county. These represented the “locals.” In the “British” division, of 10 ft. in length x 2 ft. 6 in. in height x 1 ft. 6 in. back to front, viz., a cube of 37.5 ft. there appeared but six others — three of which were doubtful. Furthermore, as if to point to the crowning absurdity of the whole scheme, but 10 ft. x 2 ft. x 1 ft. = 20 ft. cube, was provided for the great remainder of the “foreign” specimens, nearly thirty-seven times as numerous as both “local” and “British” combined.
Now for the cheapness of the system advocated. In the first place, local specimens of rare birds are not cheap. For instance, anyone can get a foreign specimen of — say, the honey buzzard — for about 8s., but a locally-killed specimen would be very likely to cost several pounds. As for the “elasticity” of such a system, if it is meant that it will stretch any way but the right, I agree, but if meant to be applied to any department of natural history it is distinctly wrong.
Let us take the case of the invertebrates, nearly all of which, as the birds, have a wide range. Many instances occur to me, but one will be sufficient, Vanessa Antiopa, the “Camberwell Beauty” butterfly. Now this insect has been taken three times (perhaps more?) in the county, and I suppose it has occurred in nearly every county in England, but as it is found also commonly throughout the greater part of Europe, parts of Africa, Asia, and America, we are confronted by the unpleasant reminder, “what shall we do with it” under the system proposed?
It is, according to that theory, “local,” “British,” and “foreign;” it is rarest as “local,” being, of course, of accidental occurrence; yet it is proposed to show it only in that division, to the extent of ignoring the two other divisions which have manifestly a greater claim on it. If this, then, were adhered to, the student would at once have presented to him an incorrect view of the distribution of species.
One other way only is there out of the difficulty, which is to show a specimen of the same insect in all three divisions; but this would, though more correct, be as embarrassing to understand, to say nothing of the loss of space involved, because the same thing would have to be repeated with nearly every invertebrate possessed by a museum arranged on these lines.
The proper way, I contend, to give real information is to shake off all insular prejudice and not call things by their wrong names, i.e., claim as “British,” things which are not essentially so. To this end I have labelled the butterfly in question:
VANESSA. ANTIOPA, L.
(Camberwell Beauty.)
Range: Asia, Africa, America,
Europe generally, including Britain (rarely),
and has occurred in Leicestershire three times.
This, I am quite sure, is the proper method to educate the public, who cannot understand, or are misled by, such crudities as placing specimens in arbitrary divisions such as “Local,” “British,” and “Foreign.”
The same rule applies to the plants; and I remember a case occurring, but a short time since when a young botanist, wishing to name a few plants collected abroad (in Europe), came to our herbarium, modelled on these misleading lines, and at once turned to the “Foreign” division to find specimens by which to compare his own. An hour was wasted in trying to puzzle some of them out, and he then came to me saying, “You hav’n’t got them.”
At once I saw he had things of world-wide distribution, and turning, much to his amazement, to the “Local” division, found them for him. All this comparison, and waste of time and temper, might have been saved had the plants been arranged in their proper orders and families, irrespective of imaginary divisions, with a label attached stating their range and if occurring locally.
Leaving biology now, we shall see how this “elastic system” can “be carried through the collections from end to end.” Take the rocks as an example. Is it real science — or what is it — which would label syenite a “Leicestershire” rock? Such queries and replies could be multiplied ad infinitum, for it will be observed that I have said nothing about the mammals, where the loss of space and want of cohesion in such a group as the carnivora — best represented of all in “local”—are patent. The fishes — fancy a “local” salmon! yet they occasionally run up the rivers.
But I need not enlarge on this, further than to say that under this “elastic” system it was gravely proposed to pictorially mount the “local” freshwater fishes under the sea fishes, not because it was a direct violation of the physics of salt and fresh water, but because the “local” division must come in its place at the bottom of the range of cases! I had almost forgotten to say that these precious divisions were to be made self-evident to the bucolic intellect even, by means of colour — thus, “Local” was to be brownish-red rock; “British,” green; and “Foreign,” blue; and these colours were, without reference to any artistic considerations such as the laws of contrast in colour, or light and shade, to be rigidly adhered to, and to be carried in distinct, if “wavy” bands, all around the room.
Fortunately, it was pointed out that shelves of wood would carry out that idea more effectually than playing with science and art in such a manner, therefore these absurd propositions were promptly discarded. And now, having described what I take to be the evils to be guarded against in plain or “pictorial” mounting, if founded on such lines as those in the scheme I have called “A,” I will briefly sketch out what I take to be the lines of the museum of the future.
I must confess I had thought a great deal of arranging the vertebrata in zoo-geographical order, in a manner founded on a. R. Wallace’s great and concise work on the “Geographical Distribution of Animals.” It seemed to me a fairly comprehensive and scientific, certainly a novel, method of treatment, and I had gone so far as to sketch out several of my groups, when I was confronted by difficulties, and saw that it was not a system which was thoroughly coherent throughout the whole of the collections, and I finally abandoned it, on the advice of Dr. Sclater, the originator, I believe, of the “zoo-geographical divisions.”
I wanted a system which might be carried out throughout the whole biological collections, and this end was best gained by arranging them in zoological order, so far as is possible in these days, when the microscope tells us that a plant may be an animal, or vice versa, or that an organism may be a plant now and something very like an animal a short time after (see Saville Kent on the “myxomycetes”).
With the plants and invertebrates this was comparatively easy, for though, as I have before pointed out, no linear arrangement is correct, yet in a small museum the “table cases” for invertebrates must run on in lines, and the mounting, owing to their enormous numbers and usually small size, must be tabular, and not pictorial (except, of course, in rare instances).
I was aware that several naturalists had “laid down the law” as to the position to be taken by local museums, and that notably Mr. John Hopkinson, of the Watford Natural History Society, had written his views upon the subject; but these views are, I think, probably somewhat narrowed by the small size of the museum he had in mind whilst writing. Though agreeing with him in the main, I considered that very few provincial museums, excepting Liverpool, could boast of having anything like so large a space for the exhibition of specimens as we possessed in our zoological room.
It may be taken, therefore, for granted, that what was written specially to suit the requirements of Watford is not of the slightest use when sought to be applied to larger museums. When, however, Mr. Hopkinson quotes the opinions of such well-known scientists as Professors Flower, Rudler, Dr. Sclater, and other practical workers, his compilation becomes of some value.
Professor Rudler, it will be seen, points out that, however full and perfect a local collection may be, it would teach nothing if narrowed down to purely local limits, and that, therefore, it must be broadened for the sake of comparison; and he very properly says: “Whilst we should patriotically aspire to render the local collection as perfect as possible, I would not by any means have the usefulness of museums stop here. Comparing any local collection with a general collection, it will, of course, be found that many important groups of ’animals, vegetables, and minerals, are but imperfectly represented, whilst others are altogether blank. There is, consequently, great danger of very limited and inadequate notions of the great system of Nature being formed by the student who confines his attention to local natural history. To counteract such a tendency, it is eminently desirable to form, under proper conditions, a general collection, which will give the visitor some notion of, at any rate, the larger groups in which natural bodies are classified. There should, consequently, be two departments to our central museum—one local and the other general—each with distinct aims, and each appealing to a distinct class of visitors.”
These being exactly my views, but with the radical change of wishing to mount both collections pictorially, I considered that, although the newly-erected wall-cases in oak, with single sheets of plate-glass, 7 ft. 6 in. by 5 ft., were, when filled as I projected, admirably suited to interest the general public, who comprise, perhaps, nine-tenths of museum visitors, yet that the claims of the respectable minority of students, artists, and quasi-scientific people should not be neglected, and for these the local fauna, etc.., should be perseveringly collected and mounted with all the appliances which science and art can suggest. To do this properly, and to preserve groups for an indefinite time, it is necessary, and indeed indispensable, that each group of male, female, nest and eggs, or young, should be mounted in a separate case, or in separate divisions of a row of cases quite distinct from the general collection.
Although I had assumed, and, indeed, had the courage of my opinions, that the pictorial method of displaying natural history specimens was a great improvement upon the old peg system, I recognised the difficulties attendant upon this and also that many excellent authorities were adverse to any pictorial arrangement whatever. And, indeed, if we come to the consideration of “true science,” I unhesitatingly assert that end is best served by a collection of properly authenticated birds’ skins scientifically arranged in cabinets, and not mounted in any way whatever; but although this method might satisfy a few workers, I very much fear that the general bulk of the ratepayers would be hardly satisfied with a museum arranged on so severely scientific principles.
It must be considered that a public museum differs from a private one in a very material point. In the former there is a diversity of tastes to please, and it is often difficult to know the exact point where the line should be drawn; in a private museum, on the contrary, there is but one person to please, and that the owner, consequently he may indulge his crotchets without fear of doing damage to anyone but himself. I considered that public museums must always be affected by matters of expediency and local feeling, and that the will of the majority must always be studied, when it has common sense for its basis.
To this end I worked, and not wishing to be so much in love with my own system as to be blind to advice, I wrote to ten of the most eminent men of science — men of European reputation, and whose dictum on museum matters cannot be questioned — setting forth, under the heading “Scheme A” and “Scheme B,” the pros and cons of both, not favouring one or the other in the slightest, giving no clue whatever to my leaning to either, and resolving to be guided entirely by the opinion of the majority, or, should it be a close tie, to refer it to an umpire.
Of these ten, eight returned unqualified approval of having a general collection for Leicester, and also of that plan which kept the “general” and “local” collections entirely distinct; one gave no opinion, and one eminent man suggested an alternative scheme of a typical collection somewhat like Professor Owen’s “Index Museum” at South Kensington, and which could be carried out afterwards without reference to the question at issue.
As regards the pictorial mounting of the specimens in zoological order — the thing I was most doubtful about — both for the “general” and the “local” collections, five out of the ten unhesitatingly favoured pictorial mounting — if well done — of both collections, and four more said nothing for or against it.
Nearly every one of these gentlemen wrote me a lengthy letter, giving most valuable advice — advice which has in all cases been acted on where practicable.
Dr. a. C. Guenther, F.R.S., etc.., at one time the Keeper of Zoology, British Museum, has kindly allowed me to quote his views embodied in a letter to me. He says:
“I should recommend you to adopt the following plan: Arranging the general and British collections together, strictly systematically, receiving, of the foreign animals, typical forms only, but making the British series as complete as possible, and choosing in preference Leicestershire animals when practicable.
Excluding from the general series specially mounted objects, such as groups of birds showing nidification, change of plumage, or illustrating the habits of animals — such groups to be mounted on separate stands in the middle of the room.
I believe this plan would best meet the requirements in your museum.”
Having now something to work upon, the Museum Committee rejected “Scheme A.” whose weak points have been detailed at length, and sanctioned “Scheme B” being carried out, which not only separated “local” from “general,” but provided for the pictorial mounting of both.
Taking, therefore, any of the orders marked on the plan (see Plate) as an example, the best known, and therefore “local” or “British” species of the first family (or genera) of that order is selected, then the least known or most striking “foreign” species of the same family (or genera) to compare with it, and so on throughout. Space being limited, however, species closely allied are not always represented, but are collected as skins to fill up the unavoidable blanks. In all cases, however, typical specimens of the families and genera of animals are attempted to be shown, and as many species as possible are collected as skins.
The highest form of each order is placed at the top, the next underneath, until the bottom of the case is arrived at, then ascends again, forming a serpentine line, which, taking the first order, Passeres, as an example, begins at the top of the first case, and takes the song thrush — one of the “locals” — as being of the first genera of the first family; this is contrasted by a “foreign” form of the same family (and genus), the “American Robin,” and thus runs on throughout the whole of the wall-cases on that side of the room devoted to birds (see Plan), until it ends at the ostrich, as being the last.
It win be seen by this that, although the so-called “local” birds are often, nay nearly always, represented, they have no fictitious value given to them, but simply take their place in the great scheme of Nature in a proper manner, being often close to so-called “foreign” forms, with which they are easily compared. The whole arrangement of accessories is “pictorial,” birds being represented on trees or on “rockwork,” many of them swimming, or flying, or eating, surrounded by mosses and the few dried plants available for such purposes — in fact, represented in as natural a manner as is possible under the circumstances.
Exception may be taken to the close contiguity of an American or Indian form with an European, sometimes “British” form, which, though scientifically correct, is artistically and topographically wrong; and this certainly was a crux of mine until I reflected that, under the old peg system, the same state of affairs existed. I have endeavoured to isolate as much as possible such incongruities one from the other, often by partially surrounding them with ferns, etc.., of their native habitat, and by leaving little blanks here and there. Apart from this, the general opinion of both scientific 16 and unscientific people is that the scheme is a success, and that such trifling and inevitable irreconcilements are amply condoned and compensated for by the increased beauty of the groups, and by the pleasure it affords, not only to artistic people, but to the general public; indeed, if vox populi be vox Dei, there is no doubt upon the subject whatever.
Other defects there are; for instance, repetitions of grasses in “fitting-up,” which proves how little can be done with dried things, and how much better it would be to replace them by modelled foliage (mentioned in Chapter XIV). 17
I would now wish to point out why I object so much to carefully-managed groups of so-called “local” birds, their nests and eggs, being introduced in a general collection, especially if the latter be arranged in a pictorial manner.
First, because small groups, such as of necessity the greater number of pairs of local birds would cut up into, would be lost amidst their larger surroundings, and be really as if an artist were to paint a small, highly finished picture in the corner of some large, “broad” subject; secondly, the great difficulty there is in protecting such choice groups from moth if exposed in, say, a cubic space of 100 ft. filled with other specimens, some of them old and doubtful as regards freedom from insects. A general collection, even should great care be taken, requires constant watching to seize upon any specimen showing signs of damage; but why a choice group of young birds in their nest, with parents — birds in change of plumage, surrounded by accessories which perhaps have cost hundreds of hours to execute — should be exposed to all the evils imaginable when isolation is so much more practicable and practical, passes comprehension.
No; I am convinced that the only way to manage, in a museum of sufficient size to have a general collection, is to arrange it as I have sketched out, and to make a separate collection close at hand, if need be, for comparison of the animals collected in the district.
Now for labelling. It was proposed originally in Scheme A in this form:
“It will be essential to have labels in the cases. These maybe made simple, however, with references to a descriptive catalogue. The labels should bear the English name, with ‘Resident,’ Summer Visitant,’ or ‘Winter Visitant’ on all British species. Nothing more.
“The three sections should have labels of distinct colours — say, yellow for local, pink for British, white for foreign. The labels will probably be best glued on to some part of the stand or setting. They should be as small as possible, so as to be legible,
“Local species maybe distinguished as ‘Native’ and ‘Casual, or Accidental.
“The latter might have a dark line above, and below the name on the label — thus, Stork, or be marked ‘Casual — Spring,’ or ‘Casual — Autumn.’”
To this I objected that if the arrangement was to be “pictorial,” the “spotty” appearance of labels, especially if of light tints, was destructive to the effect sought to be gained; that yellow is not distinct from white by gaslight; and that pink often fades to yellow; also that to colour-blind people these labels would have no significance whatever.
In addition, I submitted that there are educated people as well as people of the other class, and that the system of labels written with common names inside the cases is not only unscientific but ugly in the extreme, for these reasons — that there are many birds whose “English” names are just as puzzling as their scientific to the uneducated; whereas, for those who care to learn, the scientific name is a factor of knowledge.
Regarding their inexpedience and ugliness, such a word as the “Lesser - spotted -Woodpecker” with the marking underneath it of “Resident,” would fill up a large label if it were to be read at any height or distance. Taking it as a whole, the proposition was behind the age, and was commonplace also.
To dispense altogether with the necessity for labels, I proposed that a chart might be made for every group—a picture, in fact, of the contents of each case, every bird numbered, and a list prepared, whose corresponding number would give the whole history of each specimen; but, in any case, the adoption of a mass of printed matter clumsily introduced amidst pictorial effects must be condemned.
That all this was practicable is now proved by the present state of the Leicester Museum, provisionally finished in its general zoological collections so far as the birds and fishes are concerned. 18
The reference to species in the general collection is now managed as I proposed. (See list, on p. 337, of part of the Order Anseres, printed on sage-green cards.) This is, I contend, a great advance on the old system of labelling, which has this defect, that the labels, even if small, are “spotty” and obtrusive near the eye, and if placed 10 ft. from the floor, as they must be in many instances, it is impossible to read them unless both label and type be very large, which is an absurdity in a pictorially-mounted collection. 19
Fancy Ramiphomicron microrhynchum, Boiss. (one of the humming-birds), peeping over a label long enough to take his name — say, 3 in. x 1 in.!
Multiply this by fifty, and fancy a typical collection of pictorially-mounted humming-birds labelled in this manner! A well-known naturalist and scientific zoologist, personally unknown to me, to whom I wrote, advised, as usual, the labels to be of different colours as distinguishing marks. I sent him one of my lists and charts, and he wrote: “I return the printed description which seems to me admirably calculated to convey instruction in a becoming and sightly way. It is undoubtedly an advance upon labelling.”
Again, a scientific gentleman of local celebrity wrote an article on the museum, and did me the honour to especially note the substitute for labels. He says: “Affixed to the front of each group case, and on a level with the eye, is a neatly-printed explanatory tablet, suitably framed, comprising a list of the specimens (numbered), class, sub-class, order, family, etc.., with their scientific terms. The literal interpretation of these several terms is then given. Then follow the scientific names, with sex (where determined); and, lastly, the known range of each species — a matter of acknowledged importance. This is supplemented by an artistically-coloured chart, representing each example (also numbered), in the corresponding position which it occupies in any given group case. Thus is conveyed, in a concise and intelligible form, all the information which can fairly be embodied in the limited space at command.
Another redeeming feature, consequent upon this instructive and unique method, is the dispensing with the formidable array of labels mounted on unsightly coils of wire dotted about, reminding one of the labels displayed in the shop window of a hatter or haberdasher — ‘The Latest Novelty,’ ‘New this Season,’ etc.. They are not only obtrusive to the eye, but have a decided tendency to mar the neat effect and appropriate mounting of the general collection, and materially interfere with the surroundings, outline, and beauty of the objects to which they are appended, and their multiplied form only enhances this confusion. Beside which, these labels are of necessity frequently placed at such a height that, in order to decipher them, the head of the observer needs to be perched on a neck somewhat like the giraffe. So forcibly impressed am I with the soundness and value of this newly-devised plan, that I am led to predict that its adoption will sooner or later find favour among other kindred institutions even of a larger growth.”
LIST OF THE SPECIMENS CONTAINED IN THIS GROUP.
(Arranged from the most highly specialized to lowest form.)
For Reference see coloured CHART below.
ORDER — ANSERES. From the Latin Anser—a Goose,
INCLUDING GEESE, SWANS, TREE-DUCKS, DUCKS, MERGANSERS, etc.
Total number of Species of this Order known to inhabit the World 185
Of this number there are as visitants to, and residents in Britain, but 44, 19 only of which remain to breed.
Of these 44 for Britain, there are as visitants to, and residents in Leicestershire 13
3 only of which breed in the County.
Family — ANATIDAE.
From the Latin Anas — a Duck.
(Ducks, Geese, etc..)
No. — EGYPTIAN GOOSE
Chenalopex aegyptiaca (L). RANGE — Africa.
Domesticated in many parts of Europe, including Britain and Leicestershire.
Shot at Withcote Hall, near Oakham (probably escaped from confinement), and presented by F. PALMER, Esq.
No. — BLACK-NECKED SWAN.
Cygnus nigricollis (Gm.). RANGE — Antarctic America.
From River Plate, S. America.
Presented (in the skin) by C. J. MUSSON, Esq., 1876.
No. — BLACK SWAN.
Cygnus atratus (Lath.) (Immature) RANGE — Australia
From Sydney, New South Wales.
Presented by W. M. SQUIRES, Esq., 1875.
No — SHELDRAKE. Tadorna cornuta (Gm.). RANGE — N. Africa, Asia, as far east as Japan, Europe including Britain, and has occurred as a rare straggler in Leicestershire.
From Scotland, by purchase, 1881.
No. — WILD DUCK OR MALLARD.
Anas boscas (L.). Range — North Africa, Asia from the far North to China and Japan, N. America to Mexico, Europe generally, including Britain, and commonly occurring in Leicestershire.
From Barston, Warwickshire. Presented by the Curator (M.B.), 1882.
The animals collected in the district are now being placed in the middle of the room in oak cases, with plate-glass all around, on the tops of table-cases holding at present the invertebrates, and will show the male and female, young in nest, the eggs, birds in change of plumage, all surrounded as in nature by carefully-modelled plants and other accessories, the food, and the skeleton. The labelling of these latter groups requiring a mass of information, as being of local interest, is in this wise (on light sage-green coloured cards):
TOWN MUSEUM, LEICESTER.
Studies illustrating the Habits, etc.., of Animals collected in the County.
CLASS — Aves ORDER — Passeres FAMILY — Turdidae
GROUP No.. — Illustrative of the Life-History of the Whitethroat (SYLVIA CINEREA, Bechst), a Bird of Passage, or Spring Migrant to Britain (winters in Africa).
No. C1A — Male Whitethroat
No C1B — Female Whitethroat
No C1— Nest Of Whitethroat
Nos. C1.50 to C1.53 — Four Young Of Whitethroat
The whole collected by the Curator at Aylestone, August, 1883.
The Male and Female are the actual builders of the nest, and parents of the young birds here shown.
No. A Male, and No. Female, in Spring plumage. To be procured
RANGE. — N. Africa, Western Asia, Europe generally, common in Britain (except in the North), and also in Leicestershire.
FOOD. — Caterpillars, various small insects, and occasionally small fruits.
EGGS. — Four or five. Builds its nest amongst nettles or brambles, in low bushes near to the ground. (N.B. — Eggs shown at back of group.) Duplicate Skin and Skeleton.
PLANT EXHIBITED.
BRAMBLE (Rubus fruticosus, L.). VAR.: discolor
RANGE. — Whole of Europe except extreme North, Russian and Central Asia and Northern Africa (Not high Alpine). Common in Leicestershire.
Flowers and leaves modelled from Nature by the curator
Now for the invertebrates. Not having a special room at present for these, they are best displayed in the centre of the vertebrate-room, if possible, in table-cases, which are — for convenience, though, incorrectly in science — arranged in linear order, beginning at the Protozoa and running on to the Cephalopoda. As I before pointed out, a tabular arrangement is inevitable except in some rare cases, where a group might be taken to be pictorially displayed to give an idea of the creature’s mode of life.
By far the best arrangement of invertebrates I have ever seen is that adopted at the Liverpool Museum under the auspices of the Rev. H. H. Higgins, M.A., whose views on the invertebrates are very clearly defined in his Introduction to a “Synopsis of an Arrangement of Invertebrate Animals” contained in the Liverpool Museum. He says therein:
“The series had to be conformed to a linear arrangement. In some respects this was a serious disadvantage. The classes of invertebrate animals cannot well be represented in a single ascending or descending series. Probably it would not be possible on any symmetrical plan to assign to them their proper positions relatively to each other; but some palpable incongruities might be avoided by the use of table-cases on a ground plan resembling a genealogical tree, one proposed form of which is represented by a diagram in a work published by Professor Rolleston.
“The importance of a suitable ground plan for cases in museums seems to be much underrated. When a class of students visit a museum frequently, the localities of cases containing special groups become indelibly impressed upon the memory. This might be turned to good account.
“In preparing the first scheme of the collection, it seemed essential that plain and moderately-simple printed descriptions of the life-history of the animals should accompany the specimens; therefore, as it was clearly impossible to describe every genus, it became necessary to fix on some mode of associating in groups a number of examples to which the descriptions might apply. Such divisions as ‘classes’ and ‘orders’ were manifestly too large, whilst ‘families’ varied from a single genus, including a solitary species, to an army of more than a thousand genera — e.g., the Linnaean families Cerambycidae and Curculionidae in the Coleoptera. It was with some regret that the idea of attaching a readable sketch to each division of a given rank in recent systems of classification was relinquished; but it was found to be impracticable, and the life-history sketch thus became the foundation of the arrangement eventually adopted.
“Whether it might be a few species, or a genus, or a family, or an order, that seemed to afford suitable scope for a page of readable and instructive matter, it was decided that, throughout the entire collection, such a group should be segregated, so as to form the unit of the series. Eventually, in order that the sketches, which it was proposed to print for that purpose on tablets, might all be in positions where they could conveniently be read, it was found to be expedient that each group or unit should occupy an equal space; and as the blocks on which the table-cases rested were to be fitted up with trays or drawers, twelve of which would occupy the table-case without loss of room, these trays or drawers were adopted as the receptacles and boundaries of the groups.
“The entire plan of the table-cases, and the limits of many of the groups, were committed to writing before any considerable advance had been made in procuring specimens. In one respect this circumstance was found to be very advantageous — our desiderata were at once well defined. It was an object that each of the groups should be illustrated by carefully-selected specimens, and, until this could be attained, other acquisitions need not be sought for. In making purchases, such an object, steadily kept in view, exercises a powerful influence against the seductive attractions of ‘great bargains,’ which often turn out to be great misfortunes to a museum. Moreover, in accepting donations, it is sometimes convenient to be able to refer to a fixed plan. Where room is scanty, as in most museums, nothing is more subversive of order, or more fatal to an instructive arrangement, than the gift of a collection, coupled with a stipulation that it must be displayed in some special way. 20 It is far better to forego the possession even of a valuable series of specimens than to sacrifice order for their sake....
The following is the plan of arrangement adopted in connection with each group: Wherever circumstances permit, the plan for each group includes (1) A printed schedule, (2) Exotic species, (3) British representatives, (4) The printed tablet, (5) Earliest fossils, (6) Diagrams and other illustrations, (7) Species and varieties on a more extended scale.”
The schedule, of which an example follows, is printed in large type, and is attached conspicuously to the drawer:
GROUP 222.
SUB-KINGDOM
PROVINCE
CLASS
SUB-CLASS
ORDER
SUB-ORDER
FAMILY
Annulosa
Arthropoda
Insecta
Metabola
Lepidoptera
Rhopalocera
Papilionidae
Skeleton external, ringed.
Limbs jointed.
Legs, six.
Transformations complete.
Wings with scales.
Horns clubbed at the apex.
Middle nerve of fore-wing 4-branched.
The whole “Synopsis,” published at a shilling, by the authorities of the Liverpool Museum, is well worth reading. It contains a store of information, not the least interesting being the Greek and Latin derivations of the scientific names. I am especially glad to see that the Greek characters are not barbarously replaced by English “equivalents,” which nearly always fail to give the key to the roots. 21
The cases themselves are excellently adapted to show the specimens, and the plan — if we except the division labelled “British,” which might be advantageously altered, I think, to “Animals belonging to the above group (etc..), found also in Britain” — is admirable. Not only are objects dried, mounted, or shown in spirits, but first-class coloured drawings of such creatures as Medusae, etc.., are provided. This is, I am sure, a step in the right direction, and I so recognise the importance of this, that I am preparing charts of parts, etc.., of animals as keys to their structure, and also enlarging minute forms under the microscope, to be placed in position in the invertebrate cases for the Leicester Museum.
Another very fine feature of the Liverpool Museum, and worthy of imitation, is the manner in which the osteological preparations are managed. Not only are complete skeletons of mammals shown, but parts for comparison — that is to say, there is a large series of skulls of various mammals, birds, reptiles, and fishes, and, again, leg and arm bones, and their parts, arranged side by side; hence you may compare the fore-limb of the human subject with that of a monkey, a lion, a whale, a marsupial, a bird, a reptile, or a fish. 22
It is needless to say — taking into consideration the fact that these are prepared under the direction of the curator, Mr. Moore, and his accomplished family — that all are beautifully arranged and classified. In short, Liverpool is to be congratulated on its collections of bones and invertebrates. Turning, however, to the vertebrates, we see that, although the management begins to recognise the importance of “pictorial” mounting, it is done in a half-hearted manner — isolated groups here and there, on square boards, placed in the general collection amongst the birds, on pegs, serving only to render the latter more conspicuous in their shortcomings. This system of Liverpool is being copied at Nottingham, Derby, and other places, and was being copied also at Leicester, but not being, to my mind, half thorough enough, has been discarded for the more ambitious — certainly more effective — and quite as scientific method of arranging the vertebrates pictorially, and in their proper sequence in orders and families, endeavour being made to represent specimens of each genus also, where practicable, in this manner.
As will be seen, in making a brief résumé of what has gone before, I am in favour of large, top-lighted rooms, painted in a light neutral tint, well warmed; cases built in oak, with single sheets of plate-glass not less than 7 ft. 6 in. by 5 ft. or 8 ft. by 5 ft. 4 in., artificially lighted by pendants shaded from the eye; the vertebrates to be pictorially mounted both in the “general” and “local” collections, but, of course, zoological sequence and science not to suffer in consequence; I think that the “local” and “general” typical collections should be entirely distinct though close to each other in the same room for comparison; that extreme care should be taken in the collection and mounting of the animals inhabiting the district, and that no opportunity be lost of making this latter as complete as possible; that anything for which the locality is famed, be it fossils or antiquities, be the chief motif of any provincial museum; that, failing this, some groups or forms be collected to establish a monograph, such as Norwich is doing with its Accipitres; that, where practicable, bones and complete skeletons of animals should be collected, as being, of the greatest service to all students, be they medical or biological.
Also that explanatory charts and lists take the place of labels for the vertebrates, and that all information as to range and distribution of species be given. Further, that anatomical diagrams and figures explanatory of the structure and form of animals be provided, together with all facilities for the study of biology from a scientific stand-point. I have also laid down the axiom that a very small museum must and should confine itself to objects collected in its immediate vicinity, but that a fairly large museum would ever be in a disjointed and unfurnished state if it relied solely on such specimens. It must, therefore, have a general collection; and care should be taken in the selection of specimens so that they may fill up the blanks occurring in the “local.”
Another thing I am quite assured of; it is that the management should exercise a wise discretion in refusing unsuitable objects (chiefly of ethnology) or duplicates of common forms, and never receive a collection if fettered with the condition that “it must be kept separate.” Order, method, neatness, and careful cataloguing I say nothing about, for I assume that all principals must practise these virtues to do any good whatever with the collections entrusted to their care.
This book seems to have been printed about 1885. I got my copy when I was still a teenager (nth-hand; I am not really as old as all that!) and have greatly enjoyed the enlightened, yet practical and down-to-earth attitude of the writer. It seems to me a fine example of late Victorian instructional material of the unpretentious persuasion. Some of Browne’s views were ahead of his time in terms of compassion and conservation, so I urge modern readers not to sneer at what they see as his out-of-date interest in “stuffed animals”. Nor should they take too patronising an attitude to Browne’s long paragraphs and occasionally strained concordances; he was not a professional writer and he produced a fine, readable, and useful work. Both to the biologist and historian of science, the book remains useful to this day, and, as books of that period disappear for good, I hope, in scanning it, to prevent a sorry loss to our generation and to those who follow us. Though I nowhere edited his wording or punctuation in any other way, no matter how much self-control this occasionally demanded, I did split a lot of paragraphs, especially when they spanned pages and confused lines of thought.
In transcribing this book I have generally kept as truly to the original as I could, including when Browne’s (or possibly his editors’) conventions for the use of quotes and parentheses set my teeth on edge. However, for lack of convenient font characters and sophistication of scanning software, I have converted most of the vulgar fractions to decimals. The others I have represented with slashes, so that say, a value of one third might appear as 1/3. Similarly, I have split ligatured characters such as the ligatured “ae” and “oe” frequent in late Latin in particular. Also, following a practical and common convention, I have replaced the umlaut with a following letter “e”. Thus “Möller” becomes “Moeller”.
Browne frequently cross-referred readers to pages in the book. As pages got changed in scanning and editing, I have changed such page references mainly to chapters or similar references.
There were several places where changes (generally advances, I hope!) in technical biology, or possibly slips that Browne made in matters outside his speciality, led to errors. I have not corrected these in the text of course, nor do I discuss many of them. After all, most readers who can recognise the errors in modern terms do not need my assistance in correcting them, and to the other readers they would hardly matter. Here however are comments on a few arbitrarily chosen points, in no particular sequence:
Browne seems to have worked before hydrogen peroxide became generally available, or possibly before its bleachng powers were recognised. For bleaching most biological specimens, especially bones and the like, hydrogen peroxide is in every way better, less offensive, less corrosive, and less damaging to tissues, than hypochlorite. Soaking even badly yellowed teeth in say, a “five volumes” concentration (about 1 to 2%) of peroxide for a few days or weeks, whitens them beautifully without damage or rotting of tissues. You might find that other peroxide compounds, such as perborates, work better still, but I have not yet had occasion to use them. Other methods of bleaching only are worth trying when the specimens happen to contain a particular pigment that does not respond well to peroxide bleaching. Some such pigments are better bleached with other chemicals, such as sulphites or hypochlorites.
It takes some trawling through the book to discover that by “mites” in insect collections, Browne probably means “booklice”, i.e. Psocoptera.
Earwigs (Dermaptera) are not Hemiptera, as Browne classed them. Dermaptera and Hemiptera are not even closely related. The error is an interesting one however. It presumably arose from a nineteenth-century confusion of the hemelytra of the Hemiptera, with the short tegmina, the covering fore-wings of the Dermaptera, that protect their hind wings when they are not in flight. Hemelytra of Hemiptera are not really half-wings anyway, but protective fore-wings armoured for only about half their length. The two orders do not even resemble each other in appearance, anatomy, habits or ecological significance.
Browne uses a few terms not easily to be found in every dictionary nowadays. Dowlas is (was) a coarse kind of linen, but probably Browne referred to a strong calico in imitation of such linen. For “filister” read “fillister”; according to more or less contemporary dictionaries, it is a misspelling. It turns out to be a type of rabbet plane used in making window frames and similar structures.
For setting insects on a setting board, I was slightly surprised at Browne’s use of “braces” and the like. Nowadays everyone I know uses strips of smooth, non-sticky, translucent paper or similar material for the purpose, and I had not realised that any other methods had been used in the past. The use of such strips is easy, fast and effective. It permits one to set large numbers of insects almost in an assembly line fashion, working from the far end of the board towards oneself, laying the tape over the wings, blowing or gently dragging the wings into position, pinning down the tape, and proceeding to the next insect.
If you get a small fish alive, then there is absolutely no way to set it more perfectly than by dropping it alive into rather strong acetic acid. This is not generally practical for say, a large salmon, but for anything of manageable size, it leaves the gills, jaws, and fins fully and stiffly extended. Strong formaldehyde has a similar effect, but not as good. Immediately the specimen is stiff and dead (a few seconds at most) remove it from the acid and rinse it gently with clean, cold water, then transfer it to a solution of ammonium carbonate, lime water, or similarly gentle alkaline material, to neutralise the acid before proceeding with whatever means of preparation you intended. See also the means I describe for preventing acid damage.
If you happen to use hypochlorite or any other compound that releases chlorine, and you then wish to remove the residues, first rinse your specimens clean as well as is convenient, then soak them in very weak peroxide for a while. Hypochlorite and peroxide react with each other to produce free oxygen (harmless) and chloride (also harmless in any plausible concentrations). The effect is to neutralise any harmful or irritating residues or smell of chlorine.
In at least one place I was surprised to see that Browne speaks of pinning insects exactly through the middle. Nowadays this is not widely done because one risks damaging structures on the median line of the specimen. Instead the common convention is to pin specimens somewhat to the right of the median, so that anything damaged on the right can generally be seen undamaged on the left. When setting beetles or the like, this usually means pinning them through the right elytron. Commonly one then may set the specimen with the left elytron and wing spread. Not all beetles will permit this of course, as many flightless species have their elytra fastened down, and some, such as many Scarabaeidae, flip their flying wings out pen-knife-like without noticeably raising the elytra.
No doubt the non-toxic soaps and so on that Browne describes do work as advertised, but for keeping pests of dried material at bay, for protecting hides, preserved insects and so on, do not copy the recipes from this book. Though many of Browne’s observations are in every way practical and intelligent, our current knowledge of safe, persistent, effective insecticides would not emerge for some fifty or sixty years after his death. And, please, please! Though Browne was realistic in his assessment of the dangers of the chemicals he describes, bear in mind that even his precautions were insufficient for modern purposes. Above all, be very wary of the mercurial recipes he mentions!!! It is true that mercuric chloride is very effective, but I cannot think of a single modern reason to use it. Today we have much safer, more appropriate, materials at our disposal, including some very effective fumigants that Browne would have coveted.
Note that among the substances that Browne fails to warn us against, are those that certainly are of low acute toxicity, but present serious risks of chronic medical conditions or cancer, unrecognised in his day. His much beloved “benzoline” seems to have been largely benzene, which nowadays is regarded as a carcinogen, and for many purposes too dangerous to handle. Before this became generally known I personally handled benzene in totally unacceptable ways, but so far I seem to have been lucky, and I seem to have given up tempting fate before I incurred dangerous symptoms.
Browne seems to me a bit too cheerful about high-pinned insects being protected from some museum pests. High pinning might help a little, but it most certainly is nowhere near adequate. I have seen entire cases reduced to labelled pins standing among Dermestid beetle frass. Use modern insecticides and carefully sealed drawers or cases. I like the new pyrethroids, but keep in touch with museums to be sure you know the best current means of protection. Grease from pinned insects has caused me less of a problem than Browne describes, but possibly that is because I always have used the high-pinning techniques, never having known any other.
When it comes to setting insects Browne was no doubt very artistic and very competent at producing a presentable specimen no matter what, but some of his procedures for cheerfully snipping insects and re-assembling them should be avoided. Such expedients could ruin specimens intended for the use of professional entomologists. For the requirements of biological studies, it is far more important to have a fully genuine specimen, no matter how badly disfigured, than a hopefully reconstructed mosaic, no matter how artistic. For some purposes one could use more radical “relaxing” procedures instead. Browne seems to have used only cool water vapour or sometimes water itself. Careful application of hot steam can relax most specimens that otherwise could not be re-set. One good trick (Beware of the risks of cuts and scalding if your apparatus should burst!) is to boil water in a closed vessel, leading the steam out into a tube, preferably of silicone rubber, tipped with a drawn glass tube or the blunted needle of a syringe. Direct steam at the parts of the specimen that need relaxing. With practice you often can relax legs or wings one at a time, stopping as soon as they reach the desired position.
Note too, that Browne is cheerful about mounting some insects by gumming their feet (tarsi) to card. For entomological purposes this has severe disadvantages. Nowadays professionals hardly ever use any means of setting that prevent one from examining a specimen from all sides. Even mounting them on a transparent material tends to interfere with proper examination. For most purposes pin the insects using what Browne called “flat” setting, high on the pin, with the label beneath. Where this is not practical, such as for tiny specimens, there are other methods, which you may see described in manuals or used in museums.
Note: Browne wrote in pre-decimal days, using largely the so-called Imperial units. This might raise difficulties in understanding his quantities. E.g. his dram or drachm (drm) probably was 0.125 ounce (roughly 3.5 grams). His pound would be sixteen ounces (oz.) of 28.35 grams, but his pint would be twenty fluid ounces (not 16 as in American pints!) Correspondingly his gallon would be ten pounds, not eight. A grain would be about 65 mg. Of other units and utensils apparently common in Browne’s day, such as “six-pound Australian meat tins”, or “goffering-irons”, make what sense you may. A “wine-bottleful” was probably about 700 cc.
Note: I have had little use for hexavalent chrome compounds but one thing I did notice in experimenting with a few of Browne’s recommendations (“bichromates”, “chromic acid” etc), is that the merest few drops of such compounds (typically as a solution of potassium dichromate or chromate) added to water containing soft creatures such as molluscs, generally will kill them gently by paralysis and leave them relaxed. Usually almost anything else one uses, short of illegal or expensive drugs, causes such specimens to distort or contract into useless lumps. Once the chromate has thoroughly killed and relaxed them, say after an hour or two, the specimens can be fixed, preserved, or manipulated as required. You may wish to compare this method with the method that I describe for killing molluscs with boiled water.
One effective way of killing molluscs, particularly gastropods, snails and the like, whether terrestrial, freshwater or marine, in fully extended form, is to put them into cool or barely lukewarm, freshly-boiled water that has been kept closely covered in airtight containers for cooling without permitting a lot of oxygen to re-dissolve in the water. First rinse the live specimens in fresh water to clean away superficial dirt and slime, then submerge them in the de-oxygenated water. Place some sort of grid or other barrier to ensure that they cannot get near the surface, and re-seal the container to keep air out. Leave them for at least twenty-four hours before transferring them to a preservative fluid or otherwise proceeding to deal with them. This method leaves them fully extended and firm, ready for dissection or for preservation for display. If you remove them too soon, they at first seem dead, but contract say, when a scalpel stimulates a still-living nerve.
The cyanide bottle for killing insects certainly could be very useful, though I am not certain how widely such a dangerous substance would be available nowadays. Many forms of killing bottle have been used in the last century or so, and several are described in many handbooks. An old favourite handbook of mine is the British Museum Instructions to Collectors (Insects). Most killing bottles depend on some volatile liquid soaked into plaster, rubber or cotton wool. My own favourite was ethyl acetate, which is safe, inoffensive, and has several advantages, as long as the bottle and fluid are kept free from moisture. Dry ethyl acetate anaesthetises most insects very quickly, even if the paralysed insects take some time to die. For some reason the presence of water seems to reduce the effectiveness of ethyl acetate at quickly immobilising specimens. For example, unlike many popular components of killing bottles, ethyl acetate leaves dead specimens relaxed.
When you have treated wet specimens with anything acid, do remember to neutralise the acid residues as soon as possible. The same applies if you have preserved them with anything that gradually produces acid; For example, formaldehyde gradually reacts with oxygen to produce formic acid. In due course it destroys shells, and even fine bones and teeth. As a buffer, ammonia is cheap, effective and safe in reasonable circumstances. However, it is too volatile to be a reliable buffer against long term acidity. Specimens preserved in formaldehyde can be protected in the long term by adding hexamethylenetetramine (otherwise known as hexamine, the product of ammonia and formaldehyde) to the liquid. A practical proportion is to add 100 grams of hexamine to a litre of concentrated formaldehyde solution (formalin). This one dilutes before use, according the particular application. If you cannot get hexamine, you can use strong ammonia (about 36%) solution, about 150 ml to 1 litre of formalin. In preparing to use such formalin, allow for the fact that in adding the ammonia you diluted the formalin by about one sixth. Alternatively, though usually less effectively, you could add some ammonium carbonate or sodium bicarbonate to the container. Sometimes a little oyster-shell grit or chalk will do for long-term buffering; it can be used together with the hexamine and can go on working after the hexamine is exhausted if the collection is poorly maintained. Use your good sense in adapting your measures to your needs.
Jon Richfield
Notes
1 A piece or pieces of blotting-paper cut to fit will be found very handy to introduce into the bottle from time to time to absorb all moisture, and to keep the specimens themselves mean and dry.
2 The braces shown in Fig. 48 should be a little nearer the tips of the fore wings, or supplemented by stiff papa pinned across, otherwise the tips are likely to curl up when drying.
3 This box should be made in oak or mahogany; put together with brass screws, if for “foreign service.”
4 see remarks on leather in chapter XII.
5 See remarks on this in chapter IV.
6 It is quite true that, although camphor evaporates rapidly, and settles on anything, so as to be perceptible even to the naked eye, yet that it re-evaporates and ultimately disappears. This, to my mind, is the most fatal objection to its use: its ready evaporation leaving the insects etc.., ultimately without any protection.
7 Here, perhaps, I may explode that myth and “enormous gooseberry” of the mild winter or early spring, headed in the newspaper every year as “Extraordinary Mildness of the Season”: “We are credibly informed that, owing to the mildness of the past week, Mr. William Smith, of Dulltown, Blankshire, captured a splendid specimen of a butterfly, which a scientific gentleman to whom it was sent pronounced to be the small tortoiseshell Vanessa, etc..” Now the fact is, that Urticae merely came out for an airing, awakened from its winter sleep by the extraordinary warmth of the day, and it might just as likely have been “shook up” on the preceding Guy Faux or Christmas-day; all the Vanessidae, and many others, being hybernators. Far different, however, is it when any of the “Whites” — Pieridae — are seen or caught. They indeed do herald the coming spring, as, lying in the chrysalis state throughout the autumn and following winter, some degree of continuous warmth must take place ’ere they can emerge.
8 For those larvae of butterflies and moths which do not require earth, it will be sufficient to have a zinc pan, with covered top perforated with holes, in which the stalks of the food plants be inserted in the water which fills the pan, whose covering prevents the insects from drowning themselves therein.
9 Mr. Wm. Wesley. Essex Street Strand, London, publishes monthly a “Natural History Book Circular,” which he will send to naturalists if asked.
10 A fact!
11 When I first came to the Leicester Museum I was requested to present to the Museum and enclose in a suitable receptacle — No. 1, a piece of thick leather, which the donor thought “just the right thickness for the heel of a boot;” and No. 2 a teapot lid with no particular history, only that — as the dame who brought it phrased it — “maybe it’s summat old.”
12 About 80 only, of the 110, breed in any given midland district.
13 The Leicester Museum, when I first came to it, had the walls of its chief room, the then “Curiosity shop,” painted dull dark red, cut up by twenty-four pilasters of ad deep green in imitation of marble; the ceiling bad not been whitened for twenty years, and the birds and animals on “hat-pegs,” in cases with small panes of glass, etc.., were frightfully contrasted by a backing of crude, deep ultramarine-blue! Three primary colours. Could human perversity and bad taste go much further?
14 I am not at all sure if the artificial lighting of wall cases is not best managed by gas arms shaded from the eye of the spectator, and throwing their light into the cases by a hi similar arrangement to that adopted for lighting jewellers’ and other shops from the outside.
15 There are but two birds belonging to the Paridae (Titmice), which are claimed as being peculiar to Britain; and these merely on the ground of being climatic varieties — hardly sufficient to warrant the founding of new “species.”
16 In this category I may place Sir Philip Cunliffe Owen, C.B., etc..; Mr. R. Bowdler Sharpe, F.L.S., etc..; Mr. Smith Woodward, all of South Kensington; Sir J. A. Picton, F.S.A., etc. of Liverpool; Professor St. George Mivart, F.R.S., etc..; Professor L. O. Miall; Professor Wm. Knight; Professor A. Schuster, etc..; Mr. Jas. Orrock, Member of the Royal Institute of Water-colour Painters; and several other gentlemen who have done me the honour to speak in most flattering terms of the new arrangement.
17 One would-be critic wrote to the papers condemning the whole arrangement, because, in one of the cases, one plant was about a foot nearer the water or a yard nearer to another plant than it should be! The same wiseacre, or his friend, wrote quite an article upon some supposed “fir twigs” which, much to his confusion, were nothing of the sort, but a plant quite proper to its place in the case.
18 That is to say, that many of the ill-mounted and old specimens will ultimately be replaced by better ones of the same species, and that some modelled foliage will take the place of many of the dried grasses, rushes, etc.., which are not quite truthfully arranged.
19 When I first came to Leicester the birds, mounted on stands and perches 9 ft. from the floor, were labelled by slips of yellow paper pasted on the stands, the type being that known as Pica and Bourgeois!
20 We possess in the Leicester Museum a very fine collection of the whole of the “British” Birds (totally devoid, however of a history of the specimens) called the “Bickley Collection” — bequeathed to the town under these conditions — which, could we have used it to embellish our present arrangement, would have saved money, and, what is still more important, the entire wall space of a small room now devoted to them.
21 I noticed “Ocnai gunaike” written in a scientific work lately, and I thought I never saw a sentence so ugly and so unlike what it would be if written in Greek characters or properly pronounced.
22 Of course, all this may be seen in the Museum of the College of Surgeons, or at Oxford or Cambridge, etc.., but these are special institutions, and I am merely taking provincial general museums as my standpoint.