Manual of Taxidermy: A Complete Guide in Collecting and Preserving Birds and Mammals

In Short

This book is a practical, no-nonsense technical manual written for the amateur naturalist of the 1880s. It provides granular, step-by-step instructions on how to locate, capture, skin, and mount various species of birds and mammals. Beyond the mechanics of taxidermy, it captures a specific era in American science when ornithology transitioned from an eccentric hobby to a widespread, popular pursuit. It has lasted as a fascinating historical record of both the vanished wildlife practices of the late nineteenth century and the early, foundational methods of professional museum preparation.

The Story

The narrative begins by framing the historical context of ornithology in America. It looks back to a time when those who studied birds were viewed as local oddities, "cracked" in the eyes of neighbors and treated with "placid contempt" by the educated. The author observes that for thirty years following the monumental work of Audubon, popular interest in birds languished, stifled by national political turmoil. However, by 1883, the tide had turned. A "tidal-wave of popular favor" had swept across the continent, transforming a handful of isolated, eccentric hobbyists into a movement numbering in the thousands.

With this cultural context established, the book shifts its focus entirely to the craft of the naturalist. The "story" here is the methodical process of transforming a living creature into a permanent record. It begins in the field, where the collector must learn the habits of specific families—from the shy thrushes of the deep woods to the cormorants of the southern sand-bars. The reader learns the gritty realities of procurement: the use of sieve traps, steel traps hidden in nests, and the careful selection of shot for different species.

From the field, the narrative moves to the workspace. This is the heart of the manual: the anatomy of the process. It covers the delicate, technical labor of skinning, the cleaning of blood-stained plumage, the precise use of arsenic-based preservatives, and the construction of artificial bodies. The author provides a detailed, almost clinical account of how to wire necks, stitch wings, and manipulate the eyelids of birds to ensure a lifelike appearance.

The arc reaches its culmination in the final chapters, which address the "mounting" of these specimens. Here, the focus shifts to aesthetics and artifice: the creation of papier-mâché stands, the imitation of natural environments, and the professional standards for cabinetry. The book concludes with the practical realities of the trade, including price lists for mounting services and the availability of specialized instruments like egg drills and scalpels. It is a complete cycle, moving from the bird in the wild to the preserved, finished artifact standing in a cabinet, documenting a world where the study of nature was inseparable from the physical collection and dissection of its inhabitants.

How It Unfolds

The awakening of interest The opening section maps the recent history of American ornithology, contrasting the "obscurity" of the post-Audubon years with the sudden, massive surge in public interest that characterized the 1870s and 1880s. It establishes the collector not as a hunter, but as a student of science, albeit one whose methods are profoundly invasive.

The logistics of procurement The focus shifts to the field, detailing the various methods used to secure specimens. It covers trapping techniques—often involving live decoys like great horned owls—and specific shooting advice tailored to the size and behavior of different bird families.

The surgical mechanics of skinning This phase details the "ordinary method" of skinning, emphasizing the importance of waiting for post-mortem rigidity to pass before beginning. It provides rigid instructions for opening the skin, severing limbs, and preserving the remains with dermal powders and cotton.

The construction of the mount The narrative turns to the assembly of the final specimen, where the collector builds a body from excelsior or grass and wires the skin to mimic a living posture. The author provides detailed instructions for "crested birds" and those with wings spread, emphasizing the need for anatomical accuracy and the use of fine wire clamps.

The creation of the setting The final beats cover the artistry of the display, including the preparation of papier-mâché for artificial branches and rock work. It touches on the finishing touches, such as painting the stands and adding moss, grounding the scientific work in the visual conventions of the period.

The People

The book is primarily a dialogue between the instructor, C. J. Maynard, and the aspiring collector. Maynard portrays himself as a seasoned, pragmatic professional who has seen the "tidal-wave" of interest grow from nothing. He is a man who values precision above all else; he wants his reader to be careful, clean, and systematic. He is not sentimental about the death of the bird, but he is deeply respectful of the specimen as a scientific object. The "people" here also include the "amateur collectors" and the "lower classes" who once watched these naturalists with "open-mouthed wonder." The collector is the central protagonist, a person who wants to understand the natural world but must overcome the obstacles of limited information, the difficulty of finding rare specimens like the ivory-billed woodpecker, and the physical challenges of preserving delicate feathers and skins. By the end, the collector is transformed from an amateur into a skilled technician capable of creating, at least in appearance, a version of nature that is both permanent and still.

In Its Own Voice

"Such a man was regarded as harmless, but as just a little 'cracked,' and the lower classes gazed at him with open-mouthed wonder as he pursued his avocations."

The author describes how his predecessors were viewed by society when ornithology was still an obscure and misunderstood pursuit.

"A hawk or eagle may be used in this way as a decoy, but the great horned owl is by far the best."

This is the author’s practical advice on which species works most effectively to lure birds of prey into the collector's traps.

"If a bird be properly mounted a few more clamps on the wings will keep it in form; then the feathers can be made to stand out as they do in nature, not lie down close to the body as if the birds were badly frightened."

The author explains the aesthetic importance of capturing a "happy and contented" posture rather than a rigid, scared one.

What It's Really About

At its core, this manual is about the impulse to possess and categorize nature. It reflects an era when the scientific study of biology required the literal accumulation of objects. The argument underneath the technical instruction is that the natural world is a vast library of specimens, and it is the duty of the "devotee" to preserve these forms for study and public edification. The book raises the underlying tension between the appreciation of a living thing and the desire to freeze it in time. It treats the environment as a resource to be harvested, where even the most elusive or rare species are viewed primarily as specimens waiting to be labeled and placed in a cabinet.

Why Read It Today

Readers interested in the history of science or the evolution of natural history will find this a fascinating, if occasionally jarring, read. It offers a clear, unvarnished window into a time when taxidermy was a mainstream scientific and artistic endeavor. The technical instructions are written with a warmth and clarity that make the complex work of skinning and wiring seem almost intimate. However, the modern reader must be prepared for the period attitudes; the casual discussion of trapping and killing songbirds and raptors for the sake of a private collection may feel discomforting or even brutal by contemporary standards. The prose is precise and utilitarian, lacking the modern urge to apologize for its methods. If you can set aside the moral distance of a century, you will find a book that vibrates with the genuine, obsessive energy of a Victorian-era naturalist. It is a testament to a time when scientific discovery was a tactile, messy, and deeply hands-on pursuit.