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). [Footnote: About 80 only, of the 110, breed in any given midland district.]
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. [Footnote: 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?]