“And what are these things?” inquired Zabra, looking at a confused mass of insects lying together in a case.
“Those are the Chalcididæ,” replied the manufacturer, reading from a paper affixed to it; “a family of hymenopterous insects, which the heathens made sacred to their god Hymen, because they were very much given to the marriage state; and this belongs to the section Pupivora, because they are always found upon puppies. You will observe that they have wings, and these wings are used for flying. But all insects have not got wings, consequently some of them cannot fly. Wonderful, isn’t it? As I said before, it is a wise provision of nature to give them a sort of a facility—a convenience—a thingembob, for the purpose of more easily transporting them from place to place. Isn’t it strange?”
“What bird is this?” asked Oriel, pointing to a stuffed specimen.
“Ha! now you will observe another extraordinary thing,” exclaimed his host. “This creature also possesses wings, and yet it is not an insect. Marvellous coincidence! This is one of the Agami, so called because it is considered excellent game; and has the scientific name of Psophia crepitans, from its fondness of creeping upon sofas. You observe that this animal has but two legs: the first animals we noticed had four, and the fish had none; yet all of them, by that sort of natural a—you understand, are enabled to go about wherever they like, and indulge themselves in every kind of—something I don’t remember, according to their individual capacities—their individual capacities?—yes, their individual capacities. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“And pray what stones are these?” inquired Zabra, directing attention to two or three large fragments of stone leaning against the wall.
“They are not stones, but fossils,” replied Posthumous, trying to look amazingly sagacious; “and the difference between a stone and a fossil is a—the difference between a fossil and a stone. Isn’t it strange?”
“Wonderful!” exclaimed his visitors.
“You see it is very hard,” continued their companion, “and has the skeleton of an animal long since extinct—extinct? yes, extinct—long since extinct, plainly marked upon it. It is said that, once upon a time, long before I can remember, there was a shower of rain came down, that not only wetted every one to the skin, in spite of their umbrellas, but actually drowned all the animals in the world, except those—yes, except those who were not drowned. Well, the poor things when they were dead couldn’t move in the least; and, in course of time, by the continual deposit of—of whatso’name upon their bodies, they became squeezed into the earth round about them, and that becoming hard, they became hard also. Now these are minerals. The earth, you know, is made like a bread and butter pudding; a layer of bread and butter, then a layer of currants, and so on; in what are called strata—yes, strata, because they’re always straight;—and sometimes they find coal, and sometimes stone, and sometimes clay, and sometimes something I don’t remember, and sometimes something I have forgot; and all these things are kept together in their proper places by a sort of—you understand—which holds the world firmly together, so that people may walk upon it without fear of its tumbling to pieces. Wonderful, isn’t it?”
In this way Posthumous proceeded describing to his visitors the contents of his museum. Every object was noticed, and all relating to it he knew, which appeared at all times more novel than authentic, was minutely detailed, with a look and a manner marked by self-approbation and stupidity, that were exceedingly amusing, till the hour arrived for dinner; when he seemed, with considerable reluctance, to leave its many attractions, and led the way into a dining-room, which was also crammed with every species of antiquity he had considered sufficiently valuable for his collection, where, with a mummy at his feet, and a statue without a head at his elbow, he did the honours of hospitality, mingling them with liberal allusions to the benefit he was intent upon doing posterity.