Punch (64.1873)

Apbil 12, 1873.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

153

OUR REPRESENTATIVE MAN.

A furtner report on the British Museum, from Birds to Beetles.

E enter the Zoologi-
cal Department.—
After regretfully
quitting" the Real
and Mock Turtle
Room, filled with
specimens of the
Great Aldermanic
Period, when these
monsters crawled
about over the face
of the earth label-
led "This Day at.
1 o'clock," and
when even the very
mud on the banks
was mainly com-
posed of green fat,
I strolled into the
Zoological Depart-
- ment, with a view
to making the ac-
quaintance of The
American Oriole,
The Esculent Swal-
low, and the crafty
bird of the same
species, whichmakes

a sham entrance on the side of its nest in order to deceive its
creditors. The name of this last is the San Geronimo Swallow: in
English the Jeremy Diddler Swallow. The Tailor-bird is also
exhibited, with, of course, his little bill. I have no doubt he is
occasionally much bothered by the San Geronimo's devices.

The Rooms are dangerous to such as walk unevenly, or with a
rolling gait, on account of the glass cases built up against the walls,
and the islands of more glass cases, in the midst of channels
requiring careful navigation.

The guardian of this department has, I noticed, a martial bearing,
and marches up and down shouldering what appeared to me to be a
billiard cue, as though he were playing at soldiers. "Perhaps," I
said to myself, " he is playing at soldiers. And why not? It is a
harmless recreation, and he must otherwise find life here a trifle
monotonous among the Reptiles, the Batrachia, and the Radiated
Animals."

I came upon him five times during the morning, and he was still
marching about with the billiard cue. A happy and placid exist-
ence, all among the stuffed exotics, with plenty of food for the
imagination out of meal-times, and full liberty to fancy himself
whatever he pleases as long as he doesn't break any of the glass
cases with that billiard cue. I thought once that I would ask him a
question suggested by the collections; it was this, " Why is a Tor-
toise like a Bee?" I was prepared with the answer; something about
both making combs. On consideration, I was afraid this would
ruffle his perfect serenity, induce melancholy, and cause him to be
discontented with his lot; so I kept it to myself, and smiling upon
him benignly (when his back was turned), murmured, " Play on at
soldiers, I would not disturb thee for the world. Right about face !
March ! Farewell, brave soldier ! " and then I betook myself to the
Toads, the Frogs, the Efts, and the Horned Toads of Brazil.

What would the unlearned in such matters make of the " Siren of
Carolina ?" It sounds like the name of a black Soprano. The name
is an attraction. I mean, were your Representative informed, by
an excited person, that by going at once to the British Museum, he
could, for nothing, see "The Siren of Carolina," he would jump at
the offer, and run all the way there to catch her before she left. But,
stay! Impetuous Reader, pause ! Friends at a distance will please
accept the following intimation, and save themselves some anxiety
and trouble:—

The Siren of Carolina is a sort of an eel with front legs. That's
all. Like a Soprano, however, it is gifted with lungs, and, like a
nigger in the " Christy Collection," it has " gills."

The humour of the nomenclature is really immense, and the com-
pilers of the Guide to the British Museum must have had many a
mirthful hour, after dinner, when making up their book in anticipa-
tion of the series of glorious sells which they were concocting for
the public.

The Siren, above-mentioned, is not a bad one in its way. It is,
perhaps, outdone by the Salamander of Japan. Now, Sirs, I consti-
tute myself a Committee of Inquiry, and I call into court before me,
four skilled witnesses, Mb. E. L. Blanchabd, who has written the
Drury Lane Pantomimes for any number of years past; Mb. Dyk-

wynkyn, who makes the masks; Mb. Beverley, who paints the
scenes; and Mr. Chattbrton, who is a specially Beneficent Provi-
dence to the Renters, and a recognised caterer for Christmas, and I
ask them, singulatim, " What, Sir, would be your idea of a Sala-
mander of Japan ?"

What would they individually and collectively answer? Why,
that he was the very fellow for the opening of a Pantomime ; that
he might be trusted with some good lines to say; that he would be
dressed in red, with tinsel on his eyelids and spangles all over him ;
that he would be attended by the Sprites Flame, Firefly, Snap-
dragon, attired in costumes stitched with gun-cotton, and. accom-
panied by Guards armed with Lucifer Matches warranted to strike
on every one's box but their own; that his Palace would be in the
Glowing Caverns of the Fiery Phlegethon ; and that throughout the
first scenes this Salamander of Japan would be the patron of the
savage old Tycoon who wished to part the pair of Japanese Lovers
whom his hereditary antagonist, The Fairy of the Flowing Foun-
tain would of course protect. And the public, one and all, would,
hearing this description, cry aloud, " Hear ! Hear! ! Hear !! 1 Yes.
That's the Salamander of Japan !"

And what is it at the British Museum ? Why, an amphibious
animal, to whom the sight of a fire would be instantaneous death.
Were any respectable Manager to attempt to palm this creature off
on the public as a Salamander in a Christmas Pantomime, my four
witnesses, above-mentioned, agree with me that such an imposition
would end in the henches being torn up, the Manager called for and
pelted, and, in fact., and literally, it would be an effect that would
" bring down the House."

Room 2.—On tables 7 and 8 are laid out the Sea Pancakes.
Whence this division might be termed the Shrove Tuesday Room.
The Guide-Book says of these Pancakes that they are "so de-
pressed "--I should think so, being dried up, and stuck in a

glass-case. Why, to look at them, without even a fossil lemon and
sugar, and to think of a fossilised indigestion, and how well ordered
was everything for the "Capacious Mouth" in the Aldermanic
Period of the world's existence, is enough to make one melancholy.
The Catalogue (it is just to finish the quotation) continues—" So
depressed that there scarcely appears to he any room for their inter-
nal organs.'1'' And on this I must remark, that it is a pity to see
British Museum Cataloguists become, by their occupation, so narrow-
minded as to reduce everything in creation to their own notion of
arrangement. Because the Museum is divided into rooms, is that
any reason for a wretched Sea Pancake to be so divided ? Why
should a Sea Pancake have a room for an organ inside it ? Or rooms
for organs ? Could they prove the poor depressed creature to have
been a Musical Sea Pancake, there would have been some excuse for
their remark. I cannot quit this department without drawing
attention to the varieties of beetles from South America, some of
them being nearly as big as lobsters, and as vicious-looking as a
villain of the deepest dye in a melo-drama. The kitchen of a South
American house must be a pleasant sight at twelve o'clock at night
for the master of the house, who, returning home late with a latch-
key, and not liking to arouse the servants, descends to the basement
to see what there may be cold for supper, and to tap the beer. The
Domestic Black Beetle "in his thousands" is quite an agreeable
companion compared with the "Gigantic Goliath," and the horned
genera of this species. Goliath I see, however, is a native of Africa,
where I trust some woolly-headed David may soon stamp him out.
Seeing these beetles, I am very grateful for being an Englishman.
Beadledom is preferable to Beetledom. Brazil, I observe, is a great
place for beetles, or, I should say, a place for great beetles.

Happy Thought.—Don't go to Brazil.

The Museum is not done in a day, nor is an account of it polished
off in one number. I will conclude my visit next week.

In the evening I refreshed myself with Tricoche et Cacolet at the
New Royalty. Rather strong : but the ladies laughed. And so, as

the poet says- But I have not time to find out which poet, or

what he says ; and so I am for ever

" Avant, pendant, et apres,"

Yotjb Repbesentative.

The Wednesday Pops.

On Wednesday evening, during the season, there is generally a
concert, besides other music, going on. On Wednesdays, also, the
House of Commons is usually engaged in discussing a liquor law,
or some other preposterous measure, proposed by an honourable
fanatic. Shouts of " Sing! " are sometimes heard on these occasions,
but nobody attempts to, and thus the harmony of the evening is
undisturbed. Though quavers are absent from Wednesday's debate,
the attention of the House is so often devoted to a crotchet, that
Wednesday might as well be called Crotchet Day in the House of
Commons.