true, as asserted by the _Edinburgh Review_, that cases of birds had been transferred to the College of Surgeons and subsequently repurchased by the Museum? Or was Sir Henry Ellis’s conjecture admissible that certain green glass bottles, of which the transfer was acknowledged, might have been large enough and dirty enough to have been mistaken by the person who wrote that review “for packing cases?” How much of the Saurian collection bought from Mr. T. Hawkins was plaster? Was the Keeper of Geology justified in affirming that “the principal ichthyosaurus could not be exhibited without derogation from the character of the British Museum,” and that if it were treated as it deserved “_the whole tail would disappear_?” Had the College of Surgeons been obliged to spend £1,000 on Zoological Literature, in consequence of the deficiencies of the British Museum Library? It was admitted that the Museum possessed a fine collection of “_Megatherium_, _Chalicotherium_, _Anthrocotherium_, Anoplotherium, and _Sus diluvianus_” in plaster; but did it possess genuine fragments of any of these extinct quadrupeds? To be straightforward, were the “saurian and chelonian reptiles” in a confused and nameless state? Would the “intelligent visitor” have naturally expected to find “the limited space available for exhibition filled with twenty-eight cats placed together? Had the larger mammalia been mostly devoured by insects, with the exception of the llama’s mouth, which had happily withstood their ravages from consisting of plaster of Paris? The brunt of the assault, it will be seen, was borne by the Zoological Department, whose comparatively starved and neglected condition rendered it a convenient basis for attacks upon the general condition of the Museum, the assailing party being well versed in the axiom of fortification—that a fortress is no stronger than its weakest point. The Printed Book Department, the battle-ground of subsequent years, attracted comparatively little attention at the time. The public had not yet discovered the value, either actual or potential, of such a collection. The ideal of what a National Library should be as yet only existed in Panizzi’s head. The general standard was exceedingly low, nor could this be a matter of surprise, when, as he himself pointed out, the Museum Library, after all, contained 40,000 more volumes than any library in the modern world, previous to the French Revolution. With all the drawbacks of the Institution, its management was liberality itself, compared to that of even so splendid a library as the one at Vienna, with its accommodation for 45 readers, bringing their own pens and paper.