4408 THE ZooLocist—APRIL, 1875. 
small and unoffending to the eye as possible, but they are quite 
large enough to give all requisite information. The small birds 
are on branches, with their labels fastened beneath each. The 
waders are standing on stony rubble with tall reedy grass about, 
the ducks and divers looking just ready to waddle off from their 
rough ground into the water, which could not be seen, and the 
gulls and sea-birds resting on the brown sea-shore. The birds 
seem to have had their various tastes consulted, and to have been 
made as comfortable as possible. I must not omit to mention that 
in the Rudston Collection I noticed various little cups in which 
was a red fluid: on going near to one of the keyholes I was 
enabled to discover, by the smell, that it was carbolic acid, and 
concluded that Condy’s Fluid was the disinfectaut: I do not know 
whether this keeps off the moths, but I did not see any. 
The Strickland Collection.—From the Rudston Collection one 
goes up a winding stair to the Strickland Collection. Here one 
stands in astonishment, not so much at the beauty of the thing as 
that one building could at one and the same time contain two 
collections, the one so excellently arranged, the other so execrably 
put up. Each bird has its own case—or rather, it would be better 
to say, each other’s case, for they look as if they had hurriedly 
bundled into any case that came first to hand and were trying to 
make the best of it. One spoonbill had been squeezed into a case 
among the Insessores: a diver had its case so narrow that it was 
forced to stand on its legs and tail, but then its neck proved too 
long, and it had to bend its head in meek subjection to the top of 
the case, looking not unlike a melancholy pelican stripping off its 
feathers. 
There is another room in which there are shelves of bird- 
skeletons: these seem in good preservation and well cared for. 
The arrangement of the birds’ eggs,—as well as that of the 
butterflies and other insects,—struck me as being particularly 
good. There are desks down the room; these are double,—that 
is to say, they open on both sides,—and where the schoolboy 
would keep his books are the birds’ eggs and insects. In this way 
they are kept from the light, and are in excellent condition. 
Both Bristol and York museums are still living ones: Time 
has not as yet buried them in the dust of dead energies. 
Candie, Guernsey’ C. B. Carey. 
sé. 
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