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THE LITERARY ZOO

"The idea is not exactly original," I complained.

"Perhaps not," Mr. Gooch replied, "at least, perhaps it isn't wholly original in a general sense. Still, disregarding what private collectors may have done, I am sure this is the first public library to establish a literary-zoÖlogical annex on so extensive a scale. We aim at nothing less than completeness."

"Oh! that is what you call it—a literary-zoÖlogical annex? I thought I had heard it called a literary zoo."

"We think the other name a little more dignified. That is what it will be termed on the invitations. Let me see; I believe I sent you an advance invitation? They are not to be issued till next Monday."

He had sent me one, and I took it from my pocket and read it over again.

"The Public Library of East Caraway," it said, "requests the honor of your presence at the opening of its Literary-ZoÖlogical Annex, Thursday, September 1st, at ten o'clock a.m."

"We have to set that hour," Mr. Gooch explained, "because the animals are so much brighter then. In the afternoon they get sleepy, and at four o'clock, which is feeding time, they are noisy and quarrelsome. But come, we will go and inspect them."

He rose and led the way out of his office. We went through the delivery room, where a dozen or twenty people were waiting for books, and out through the stacks to the door of the big wooden annex. Mr. Gooch drew a bunch of keys from his pocket and unfastened the padlock.

"Of course you understand," said he, as he pushed back the heavy doors, "there are still very many empty cages. Our collection is about one-fifth what we hope to have in two years. It is slow work, and most of the specimens are obtained only after long research and difficult negotiation. Some owners of the most desirable animals hold them at prices absolutely prohibitive to a library like ours. I could tell you of haggling and bargaining that we have done! Well, you would never believe, for instance, what the owner of the horse who brought the news from Ghent to Aix wants for him, and as for Circe's swine—there are only two of them extant now—they might be made of pure gold, those pigs! But we have enough animals to make a respectable showing on opening day, I think, and I believe the collection will be decidedly educational in its effects."

Mr. Gooch has a firmer trust in the educational value of many things than I have been able to share, but I looked forward with great interest to this first view of his animals.

"This section is devoted to birds," said Mr. Gooch; "that swan floating around on the pool is the one who was once an ugly duckling; the cockatoo on the perch belonged to Count Fosco; and the red bird is, of course, the Kentucky Cardinal.

"One moment," I interposed, "how do you classify your animals? Not by authors, I take it?"

Mr. Gooch looked a little embarrassed. "Well, no," he admitted; "it was a very painful thing, for as a librarian I naturally wished to do everything according to library methods. But it was absolutely impossible. We tried it, and we had some harrowing experiences."

Mr. Gooch wiped his brow with his handkerchief.

"The Kipling section was a perfect pandemonium in no time," he went on, "there was a terrific battle between the tiger and one of the elephants. I thought the whole place would be torn to pieces. We got them separated somehow, and we saw then that it would be utterly impossible to classify by authors. In some cases it might be done, but we had to stick to one system or another, so we adopted the usual methods of the zoÖlogical museums—the birds by themselves, the carnivora together, and so on. It is hardly scholarly, I know, but we had to do it."

I could not deny that he had acted for the best. By way of changing the subject I asked him about a small bird of inconspicuous appearance.

"It is the nightingale that inspired John Keats," he replied, "he sings sometimes, on moonlit nights. I can tell you, however, that the Ode is better than his song. The raven, sitting there on the pallid bust of Pallas, you will recognize without any difficulty. This other raven—"

"Belonged to Barnaby Rudge, I suppose?"

"No, he is owned by a private collector. This one flew and croaked ahead of Queen Guinevere, when she fled all night long by glimmering waste and weald, and heard the spirits of the waste and weald moan as she fled. Our ravens are not very cheerful birds. The other large, black bird is Solomon Caw, who lived in Kensington Gardens. There at the edge of the pool stands the Caliph Stork."

"And this hen?" I asked.

"That is Em'ly, who was once the object of attention from a Virginian. The other is the Little Red Hin."

"You will be able to make an addition to your poultry soon," I remarked.

"What do you mean?"

"Why, one Chantecler."

"Will we? I don't know. We don't go in for every animal that becomes notorious through advertising. Do you recognize the canary?"

"Little Nell's?"

"No, this one hung in the cabin of the brig Flying Scud. Here are the dogs—well penned, you see—I didn't intend that outrageous pun—because some of them are dangerous. This is Wolf, who once belonged to Rip Van Winkle. Many persons have the impression that his name is Snider. The bloodhound is one of those which pursued Eliza across the ice. There are many impostors, but our specimen is undoubtedly genuine."

"And the stuffed bloodhound?" I inquired.

"He was shot with a bottle of Daffy's Elixir by Micah Clarke. The other stuffed dog, that gigantic black one, is—"

"The Hound of the Baskervilles, of course!" I interrupted.

"Certainly; there are the marks of Sherlock Holmes's bullets. This fox terrier, who is so lively and amiable, is Montmorency, who once went on a trip with Three Men in a Boat. This stuffed pug, who looks flattened and damaged, is Willoughby, who was killed by having a Fallen Idol tumble on him. The enormous St. Bernard is Porthos, who belonged to Peter Ibbetson, and that collie once had the extreme honor of being chased about in the snow and caught by Mr. Van Bibber."

We walked on, down the long passage, with cages on either side. On shelves, here and there, were animals, dead and stuffed. It had been impossible to procure them alive. Mr. Gooch pointed out a fox, who plainly had been cut in two. The stitches where the taxidermist sewed him together were easy to see. It was the fox, so the librarian told me, killed in Spain by the Brigadier Gerard.

"Here are the cats," announced Mr. Gooch, "and their characters vary. The Persian kitten, who is chasing her tail, has been celebrated in Rubaiyat. That large Tom is not named Tom, but Peter. He once had some painkiller administered to him by Tom Sawyer. The disagreeable looking creature belonged to Mr. Wilde, the repairer of reputations in 'The King in Yellow.' Perhaps you recognize the other?"

"It must be The Black Cat!" I exclaimed.

"It is, indeed," said Mr. Gooch. "Before we look at the horses, I want you to come into this little room. The collection here is unique—it cannot be approached by any other in the world. This large cage is intended for the Jabberwock—when we obtain him. In the meanwhile here are some Mome Raths—a sort of green pig who has lost his way, you know; two Borogoves and a Slithy Tove."

I gazed with feelings of deep emotion on the Slithy Tove—"something like a badger, something like a lizard, and something like a corkscrew." The two Borogoves, who were both very mimsy indeed, did not belie their reputation for looking like live mops.

"This room is admirable! Have you any other animals in it?"

"Yes," Mr. Gooch replied, "here is the Pobble Who Has No Toes."

"The genuine Pobble?"

"Absolutely genuine. The veritable Pobble who went to fish for his Aunt Jobiska's runcible cat with crimson whiskers. Over there you can see the Griffin who once carried a Minor Canon on his back. And beside him—"

I saw a large and sulky-looking bird, seated in a chair, in a state of deep dejection and invalidism. His head was tied up, as if he were very ill.

"Surely that is The Cockalorum."

Mr. Gooch nodded.

"Follow me, please. This room—" he opened a door that led into what seemed to be a vast and absolutely empty apartment—"this room contains a Snark, and the Invisible Dog who figured in the Stories of Three Burglars. Beyond are some of the animals who once lived on a certain island with one Dr. Moreau. Would you like to see them?"

I shuddered and declined.

"Very well, then. We will return to the main building."

We did so, and the librarian paused beside a small case. "Here is The Gold Bug. This caterpillar is the one that Sergeant Troy removed on the tip of his sword from the dress of Bathsheba Everdene. And the bees were of the swarm that traveled about with the Bee Man of Orn."

The two cages beyond both contained large apes.

"Our orang-outangs," remarked Mr. Gooch, "have decidedly bad reputations. The one on the right committed the murders in the Rue Morgue. The other is called Bimi—he belonged to a Frenchman named Bertran. The next cage has a miscellaneous assortment of Bander Log. Oh! here are some horses and cattle. The pony once belonged to Tom Bailey. This donkey was one of those which used to annoy Miss Betsy Trotwood. Priscilla Alden, on her wedding-day, rode on this white bull. The stuffed donkey is the one whose dead body lay once in the pathway of a traveler on a Sentimental Journey. And the other donkey was the foster-mother of the Luck of Roaring Camp."

I pointed to some enormous and repulsive-looking crabs that were crawling about on the sand at the edge of a tank, and asked what they were. The librarian told me that they were from the subterranean river over which Allan Quatermain and his friends traveled.

"But they," said Mr. Gooch, "are nothing to the fellow in the next tank."

I looked where he indicated and saw the most hideous monster it has ever been my bad luck to come across. It was a tremendous crab—the creature of a nightmare.

"It is one of those found on the shores of the Future by the traveler who voyaged on the Time Machine."

"I think I have had enough of your aquariums," I said.

"Just look at this. Here is the Jumping Frog of Calaveras County, whose name was Daniel Webster. He has recovered from his meal of birdshot, and can jump surprisingly. Oh! and over there is the Crocodile who swallowed an alarm clock."

Mr. Gooch stopped before a row of elephants who were swaying about, eating hay, and requesting peanuts. I was shown Moti Guj, the mutineer, and the elephant on whose back Private Mulvaney once went for a ride. There was also Zenobia, who fell in love with a country doctor, and Her Ladyship's Elephant.

There were a number of tigers, including, of course, the ill-natured Shere Khan.

"The one in the second cage," said my guide, "is one of those hunted by Mr. Isaacs, when he was after a tiger-skin to present to Miss Westonhaugh."

But perhaps the most interesting of all was one which, so Mr. Gooch told me, had been confined in a cage beside a lady's apartment, to await the opening of a door by a young man. But Mr. Gooch was unable to tell me whether the man opened the door of the Lady or the Tiger.

Among the lions I saw the beast which fought with a crocodile in the presence of Leo Vincey and Horace Holly. A black panther was recognizable as Bagheera, and another, of the normal color, was the same animal who conceived a passion for a French soldier in the desert.

"Here are some smaller animals," said Mr. Gooch; "do you know this fellow with the sharp nose?"

"It is a mongoose, is it not?"

"Yes; Rikki-tikki-tavi, himself. And these white mice belonged to Count Fosco, like the cockatoo. This mouse, alone by herself, was the pet of Barty Josselin."

We moved on, but I began to look at my watch, for I had a train to catch.

"The snakes are an especially fine part of the collection," Mr. Gooch remarked; "do you see this swamp adder? It is the Speckled Band, that gave Sherlock Holmes an uncomfortable five minutes. That little coral snake in the pickle bottle was responsible for the death of one Reingelder. The two rattlesnakes were intimates of Elsie Venner, and in that cage you may see Kaa, the great rock python. But here is a greater prize than any."

He indicated an extraordinary and beautiful serpent, at which I looked with the greatest surprise and wonder.

"She was a gordian shape of dazzling hue,

Vermilion-spotted, golden, green, and blue;

Striped like a zebra, freckled like a pard,

Eyed like a peacock, and all crimson barred;

And full of silver moons, that, as she breathed,

Dissolved, or brighter shone, or inter-wreathed

Their lustres with the gloomier tapestries—

So rainbow-sided, touched with miseries,

She seemed, at once, some penanced lady elf,

Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self.

Upon her crest she wore a wannish fire

Sprinkled with stars, like Ariadne's tiar;

Her head was serpent, but ah, bitter-sweet!

She had a woman's mouth with all its pearls complete."

"That," said the librarian, "I consider the gem of the collection."

"It is truly," I replied, "but I think it a profanation to have poor Lamia here."

"You don't consider—" began Mr. Gooch.

"Yes, I do. And I must hurry now, for it is nearly train time. I am deeply indebted to you for this sight of your animals, and I hope your opening day will be a great success. It is my advice to you not to let any nervous persons see those crabs, though."

"Just a minute. We have a rhinoceros here, who got cake-crumbs inside his skin. His name is Strorks, and—"

"Thank you very much; but I really must hurry. Good-by."

"Good-by."

And I went out and left him beside the rhinoceros.