486 TRANSACTIONS OF SECTION D. 
introduced, chiefly through Zoological Societies, but we must seek other reasons 
for their existence than these exiguous gains, 
Menageries are useful in the first place as educational institutions, in the 
widest sense of the word. Every new generation should have an opportunity of 
seeing the wonder and variety of animated nature, and of learning something 
that they cannot acquire from books or pictures or lectures about the chief types 
of wild animals. For that reason Zoological Gardens should be associated in 
some form with elementary and secondary education. We in London admit the 
children from elementary schools on five mornings in the week at the nominal 
charge of a penny for each child, and, in co-operation with the Kducational Com- 
mittee of the London County Council, we conduct courses of lectures and demon- 
strations for the teachers who will afterwards bring their children to visit the 
Gardens. 
Menageries provide one of the best schools for students of art, for nowhere 
else than amongst living animals are to be found such strange fantasies of colour, 
such play of light on contour and surface, such intricate and beautiful harmonies 
of function and structure. ‘To encourage art the London Society allows students 
of recognised schools of drawing and painting, modelling and designing, to use 
the Gardens at nominal rates. 
Menageries provide a rich material for the anatomist, histologist, physiologist, 
parasitologist and pathologist. It is surprising to note how many of the animals 
used by Lamarck and Cuvier, Johannes Miller and Wiedersheim, Owen and 
Huxley were obtained from Zoological Gardens. At all the more important 
Gardens increasing use is being made of the material for the older purposes of 
anatomical research and for the newer purposes of pathology and physiology. 
There remains the fundamental reason for the existence of menageries, that 
they are collections of living animals and therefore an essential material for the 
study of zoology. Systematic zoology, comparative anatomy, and even morphology, 
the latter the most fascinating of all the attempts of the human intellect to re- 
create nature within the categories of the human mind, have their reason and their 
justification in the existence of living animals under conditions in which we can 
observe them. And this leads me to a remark which ought to be a truism but 
which, unfortunately, is still far from being a truism. The essential difference 
between a zoological museum and a menagerie is that in the latter the animals 
are alive. The former takes its value from its completeness, from the number 
of rare species of which it has examples, and from the extent to which its collec- 
tions are properly classified and arranged. The value of a menagerie is not its 
zoological completeness, not the number of rare animals that at any moment it 
may contain, not even the extent to which it is duly labelled and systematically 
arranged, but the success with which it displays its inhabitants as living 
creatures under conditions in which they can exercise at least some of their vital 
activities. 
The old ideal of a long series of dens or cages in which representatives of 
kindred species could mope opposite their labels is surely but slowly disappearing. 
It is a museum arrangement, and not an arrangement for living animals. The 
old ideal by which the energy and the funds of a menagerie were devoted in 
the first place to obtaining species ‘ new to the collection’ or ‘new to science’ 
is surely but slowly disappearing. It is the instinct of a collector, the craving of 
a systematist, but is misplaced in those who have the charge of living animals. 
Certainly we like to have many species, to have rare species, and even to have new 
species represented in our menageries. But what we are learning to like most 
of all is to have the examples of the species we possess, whether these be new or 
old, housed in such a way that they can live long, and live happily, and live under 
conditions in which their natural habits, instincts, movements, and routine of 
life can be studied by the naturalist and enjoyed by the lover of animals. 
Slowly the new conditions are creeping in, most slowly in the older insti- 
tutions hampered by lack of space, cumbered with old and costly buildings, op- 
pressed by the habits of long years and the traditions established by men who 
none the less are justly famous in the history of zoological science. Space, open air, 
scrupulous attention to hygiene and diet, the provision of some attempt at natural 
environment are receiving attention that they have never received before. You 
will see the signs of the change in Washington and New York, in London and 
Berlin, in Antwerp and Rotterdam, and in all the Gardens of Germany. It was 
