English climate better than any other—with
red brick walls, gables, towers, and buttresses,
and a wide spanning roof, betokening a noble
building fit for the usages of hospitality or the
despatch of legal business.

The second of the two buildings instead of
warm red brick, presents a cold stone, stately
classic front, adorned by a row of tall Grecian
columns, under which we pass to enter the
place. In two minutes we are in a different
world. Without, we left an atmosphere of
life and living bustle; within, we find a stiller,
calmer company. We walk amidst an
abundant harvest yielded by death to teach the
lesson of how life continues, and we come in
absolute contact with some things that moved
upon the earth before the Flood. About us
are innumerable forms in which life has been.
Now all are quiet in the serene dignity of
death. Very few minutes are generally
enough to calm down the minds of those who
may visit the two buildings in succession—
who, after seeing the Hall of Lincoln's Inn, will
pass along the square and enter the Hunterian
Museum at the College of Surgeons.

But if we witness here the revelations of
the dissecting-room, we are startled by none
of its grossness or its taints. The museum is
a large architectural building, lighted from
above, and at first glance seems to be a noble
hall of stone, mahogany, and plate-glass,
raised for the occupation of a regiment of
skeletons and an army of bottles. Shelves
and galleries run round the place, from the
floor to the roof, and every shelf is crowded
with specimens of all sizes and colours. Upon
the front of the galleries, skulls and antlers, of
various kinds, are fixed, and amongst them
some of gigantic size, which we soon learn
belonged to the creatures the traveller Bruce
spoke of, as the mysterious Sauga of Central
Africa. From the door we enter at, to the
extreme end of the place, run two rows of
mahogany, glass-roofed cases, the lower
portions filled with drawers containing specimens
for reference, and the tops covered with others
of more beauty or interest. These cases
divide the floor into three straight walks,
along which, at regular intervals, are pedestals
to support various things too large for
enclosure. Nearest the door are the oldest and
most curious of the contents of the place—the
relics of the huge monsters who roved in the
primeval wilds of our earth long before the
Flood.

These are the ancient glyptodon, the still
older mylodon, and the megatherium, more
ancient than either. Looking at the bones of
these extinct monsters, and glancing from
them upon the other bony relics disposed
about the place, we see, at once, how
immensely larger some of the animals of our
earth once were, than they are now. The
skeleton of the elephant, at the opposite end
of the hall, and the bones of the hippopotamus,
close by, look small in comparison with those
of the creatures no longer found alive, and
whose existence is now one of the romances
of geology and of the animal world. The
whale is the only existing creature that can
bear comparison with the by-gone monsters
whose existence is shown by the bones in this
place; and of the skeleton of the whale we
have no perfect specimen, because the building
is not large enough to hold it, and the college
wants funds to build a place for the reception
of the creature that would make this national
collection more complete. Amid the real
riches of the place we cannot avoid wishing it
more perfect. The skeleton of a whale was
exhibited in London some years ago, and
attracted much notice; but it was taken away,
and is now in France. Another may be seen
in the Museum at Berlin. We ought to have
a perfect one in the Hunterian Collection.
The money of the College has been liberally
poured out to secure the strange old-world
relics. One Don Pedro de Angelis, an active
collector, who secured the bones of the
glyptodon and mylodon, on the alluvial plains near
Buenos Ayres, received for them no less than
three hundred pounds thirteen shillings; for
the bones of the mastodon, found in Kentucky,
another speculative gentleman got one hundred
and sixty pounds; whilst a Mr. Cumming
received one hundred and six pounds
for a set of choice shells he collected in the
Philippine Islands; making together a handsome
sum well spent to enrich the collection.
Everything, however, need not be sacrificed
to the past. The creatures of our period
deserve a place, the more so since the extension
of commerce, and of whaling energy,
threatens the ultimate extinction of the
mammoth of the deep. If the College cannot afford
to extend their building to make room for a
whale, let the extension be made by the
Government. Mr. Arnott, the President of
the College, should plead the cause of science
to Lord John Russell; and the minister—
himself an author as well as a statesman—
could scarcely withstand the appeal now that
he has an exchequer balance in hand.

But the consideration of what might be in
the Hunterian Museum must not divert our
attention from the many things it contains.
Walking along the central path we gradually
obtain an idea of how abundant these riches
are. We see around contributions from all
countries; hundreds of skeletons; but not
one horror. All are clean, calm, and white—
bones, dry bones—but standing up in all the
characteristic attitudes of life. Asia sends
its elephant; Africa its cameleopard, and
its hippopotamus; the new world of
Australasia, its gigantic extinct bird, the Dinornis of
New Zealand; Europe, a species of extinct,
gigantic deer. The birds of the air, the beasts
of the field, the fishes of the sea, the myriad
of creeping things, the reptiles of oozy rivers
and marshes, and dark forests, send each their
contribution to this assemblage of all things
—this bony parliament of the natural
creation—this Hall of Skeleton Assembly—this