This

mushrooms except such as had been reared on garden beds. The large pink mushroom, which, as we have said, is eaten in Italy, was long considered to be that described by Pliny, and celebrated by Juvenal and Martial. This was believed to be the mushroom used by Agrippina to poison her husband, the emperor Claudius Cæsar; but Dr. Withering thinks that the kind really intended by the ancient writers was the saffron-coloured agaric found in the pine woods of Scotland, and in some parts of England, and called the delicious mushroom. plant certainly possesses very luscious qualities, and is universally liked. Sir J. E. Smith saw a great quantity of these mushrooms for sale in the Marseilles market, and they are very plentiful in the woods both of France and Italy. This plant is not attractive in appearance, but its flavour is described as resembling that of muscles. Nero, for whose sake the guilty Agrippina murdered her husband, called it "food for gods," because, after death, Claudius Cæsar was made one of the many gods of pagan Rome. It was said by Pliny, that after this circumstance, the Romans almost discarded the use of mushrooms as food; but if so, this was not of long continuance.

A very beautiful and delicate species of agaric, but one which is very rare, is that called the Alpine amanita, which is found in the Scottish woods. Dr. Greville says of this elegant white fungus: "It is the most Alpine species which I know. It grows on the bleak summits of the loftiest Grampians, and really enlivens the few turfy spots which occur in these desert regions by its symmetry and extreme whiteness. In its young state, it is completely enveloped in a smooth wrapper, and looks like a pigeon's egg scarcely rising above the dark moss." After bursting its wrapper, this plant advances quickly to maturity, uninjured by winds or the snow with which it is covered, even in the middle of August. There it blooms, often unseen by human eye, yet proving the care of the God who formed it.

"Ye living plants that skirt the eternal frost!
Ye wild goats, sporting round the eagle's nest!
Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain storm!
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds!
Ye signs and wonders of the elements!
Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise!"

A. P.

THE DALADA RELIC, OR, TOOTH OF
BUDDHA.

THE Dalada relic is placed in the principal temple at Kandy, which is attached to what was the palace of the Kandian monarch; in fact the Dalada Malegawa was the domestic wihare of the royal family. This temple is considered by all Buddhists as the most sacred in the island of Ceylon, from the fact that the Dalda relic, or tooth of Buddha, is enshrined within its walls; and during the reigns of the kings of Kandy the people flocked from all parts of the island to worship the relic, on the various occasions of its public exhibition. The time for the exhibition of the Dalada was named by the monarch, and the nation looked upon that period as one of rejoicing; the chiefs flocked to the capital, attended by numerous followers; elephants were to be seen, bedecked with their richest trappings, their masters reclining luxuriously in the howdahs, which in many instances were attached to the bodies of the elephants by broad bands, studded with pearls and precious gems. Palanquins, bandies, haccories, and every description of vehicle, were also called into requisition, to bear the inhabitants of distant villages to the scene of rejoicing. When the appointed day arrived, the monarch, accompanied by the whole of the royal family and chiefs, all clad in their costliest jewels and robes of state, went to worship the relic, which was exhibited by the priest of the highest rank, who reverently raised it above his head, to enable the assembled multitude to gaze thereon. As soon as the vast assemblage caught a glimpse of the sacred relic, they salaamed most lowly, giving utterance simultaneously to the exclamation of praise, "Sadhu!" This word was repeated by those who stood in the background, until the air was replete with the sounds of adoration, and the joyous expression was re-echoed from hill to hill. Festivals and rejoicings succeeded in the palace and the hut, until the excitement and enthusiasm which had been called into action by the exhibition of the relic had subsided: then, and not till then, did the mighty throng of chiefs and people, who dwelt in distant villages, depart for their respective homes; and tranquillity again reigned in Kandy.

The Dalada Malegawa is an edifice of two stories, with a curved, sloping roof, built somewhat in the Chinese style

of architecture, and is approached by a double flight of stone steps. Upon entering the temple, the walls are found to be covered with sacred emblems, and decorations of brass: a flight of steps leads to the sanctuary, which is situated on the upper story; this room has folding-doors with brass pannels, on either side of which curtains are suspended: the apartment is about twelve feet square, and without windows; consequently the sun's cheering rays can never illumine this abode of superstition. The walls and ceiling are hung with gold brocade, and white shawls with coloured borders; a platform, or table, about four feet high, occupies the principal part of the room. This table is also covered with gold brocade. On this shrine are placed two small images of Buddha, the one of gold and the other of crystal; before these idols offerings of odoriferous flowers and fruit are placed; four caskets, about twelve inches high, inclosing relics, are arranged on the shrine, in the centre of which stands the casket, or karandua, which contains the sacred tooth. The casket is in the form of a bell, being made in three pieces, and is about five feet high; the diameter at the base being nine feet six inches; and it appears to be made of gold; but we were informed by a Kandian chief that it was composed of silver, richly gilt. The chasing of the karandua is simply elegant, and a few gems are dispersed about it, the most costly of which is a cat's-eye, which is set on the summit. Although the workmanship of the casket is unpretending, yet the various ornaments and chains which are suspended about it are of the richest description, and the most elaborate designs. These ornaments have been presented from time to time by various worshippers of the god, in token of gratitude for favours supposed to have been conferred by him; and the wealthy devotees of the present day frequently make additions to these valuable embellishments. The most exquisitely beautiful of all these ornaments is a bird, which is attached to a massive and elaborately-chased golden chain. The body of the bird is formed of gold, and the plumage is represented by a profusion of precious gems, which consists of diamonds, emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and cat's-eyes. Description is inadequate to convey a correct idea of the extreme and extraordinary effulgence and exquisite beauty of these elaborate decorations,

which the limner's art alone could faithfully delineate. The karandua is opened by a small door, which is placed in the middle of the casket.* This precious tooth of Buddha, it is affirmed by Europeans, is an artificial one, made of ivory, which is perfectly discoloured by the hand of time; but most assuredly, if a natural one, both from its size and shape, this tooth could not have been carried in the jaw of a human being; but that it might have belonged to some ancient alligator, many centuries ago, is extremely possible. This discoloured memento of superstition is wrapped in a delicately thin sheet of virgin gold, and deposited in a box of the same precious material, which is of the exact form of, and only sufficiently large to receive, the relic. The exterior of this delicate bijou is studded with precious stones, which are arranged in symmetrical order: this box is placed in a golden vase, which is decorated with diamonds, emeralds, and rubies, in a style similar to the box, and being wrapped in rich brocade, is inclosed in a second vase of gold, which is encircled with folds of pure white muslin. This vase is then located in a third, which is put into a fourth; both being formed of the same precious metal, and similarly folded in muslin. The last vase is nearly eighteen inches high, and the workmanship, delicate chasing, and the tasteful manner in which the gems are arranged in the whole series of vases, are most exquisite. The fourth vase, with its contents, is deposited in the shrine, or karandua, and is taken from thence at stated periods to be worshipped; and none but the chief priest ever presumes to touch the Dalada relic. When we saw the relic, it was placed in the centre of an exquisitely beautiful pink lotus, the flowers of the bo-tree being strewed around, and tastefully arranged on the shrine; but it was most pitiable to behold the benighted Buddhists, many of them learned men and good scholars, prostrating themselves before a piece of discoloured bone. There is also a smaller and most exquisitely beautiful casket, or karandua, studded with precious stones, in which the relic is placed when it is borne in the religious procession, or when the chief priest, in troublous times of commotion or war, should think it necessary to insure the safety of the Dalada,

the province, as well as the Buddhist chief priest, * Until 1847, the Christian government agent of used each to have a key of the karandua.

by removing it from the temple. Above the shrine, and attached to the wall, are plates of gold, on which are inscribed sacred emblems and characters; on either side of the principal shrine there are smaller shrines, which are covered with gold and silver cloths, on which are placed gilt lamps, and offerings of flowers and fruit; and the effluvia arising from the cocoa-nut oil, with which the lamps are supplied, combined with the perfume of the votive flowers, render the atmosphere of this unventilated apartment most oppressive. Abridged from the Dublin University Magazine.

AUTUMN.

THE year is declining into its old age, the glorious blue sky and the sunshine of summer have departed, and the days are dull, cold, and short. The groves are silent, and many of the birds, with instinctive foresight, have winged their flight to warmer climes. The trees are no longer clothed with their summer glory; but the wind sighs through the leafless branches, as though mourning over their nakedness; and the glossy leaves, that lately offered a refreshing shelter from the noontide sun, now lie in corrupting heaps, or fly in fantastic race before the wind. The lovely garden appears sad and desolate; it no longer gladdens with its beauty and its fragrance; most of the flowers have withered, and only a few of the more hardy and later kinds put forth their colourless buds beneath the feeble sun. There is, doubtless, much that is beautiful in the warm russet tints of the fading trees and decaying leaves; but the pleasure derived from contemplating them is strangely blended with melancholy as we look round upon the dying and the dead. In the spring all things were budding with hope, in the summer all was in meridian beauty; but now nature is clothed in gloom, and whether the mind contemplates her as having lost the beauties of summer, or preparing for the stern rigours of winter, there is little to animate or to cheer. Farewell to the early morning walks of summer, farewell to the delighful evening rambles, farewell to the long calm twilight. Farewell to the fragrant hayfield, to the dewy rose, to the shady bower, to the almost human voice of the cuckoo, to the liquid melody of the nightingale, and

the thousand delights of summer. We must betake ourselves now to our indoor gratifications, our books, and our firesides, and endeavour thus to compensate for the cheerlessness without. We must endeavour to acquiesce cheerfully in all God does, and be thankful for what he denies as well as for what he gives. As it is necessary that there should be winter as well as summer, let us learn to be grateful for the comforts which God has bestowed upon us to make us happy even in the dullest and most inclement

seasons.

Autumn is a fitting season for calculation and retrospective inquiry. The harvests are gathered in from the fields, and the fruits and productions of the earth having arrived at maturity, are safely stored. The prudent farmer calculates as to the breadth of land he has sown, the outlay he has expended, the harvest he has reaped, and thus endeavours to form a correct estimate of the profits of the year. Should we not imitate his anxiety respecting things of higher moment? How have we been sowing? To the flesh, reaping corruption; or to the Spirit, reaping life and peace? What has been our spiritual profit during the year? Have our crosses and vexations ploughed up our hard hearts, and made them soft? Has the dew of God's grace melted us into penitence and love? Has the sunshine of God's smile warmed us into earnestness and zeal? What has become of those seeds of Divine truth which have been dropped into our hearts? Have they been cordially received and cherished, and allowed to germinate and develop themselves in holy habits and useful acts; or have they perished within us because the soil of our hearts was so unfit to receive them? What have we done with those exhortations from without, and convictions within, which have so often recalled our wandering hearts to duty and to God? Where is our harvest? Are we disgracing the season by barrenness, when all things have so well fulfilled the promise they gave in spring? Are we mindful of Him who hath tended us so long and so well, and who reasonably looks for the fruits of autumn, as well as the budding of spring and the blossom of summer? How many such inquiries ought the season to suggest to us?

The autumn is also an appropriate season for forethought and preparation.

The farmer anticipates the storms and the frosts of winter, and busies himself in making due preparation for them. He provides for the shelter of his cattle, the housing of his grain, the storing of his his fruit, and makes a thousand other prudent and necessary arrangements. While yet the sun shines warm and the sky is serene, he collects fuel in anticipation of the frost and snow, and sees to it that his sheds are firm and the thatch whole, that he may be prepared for the rough weather of winter. How worthy of imitation, in affairs of greater importance, is such prudence and forethought! The sunshine and the summer of life are rapidly passing away, and even to the young the autumn may have already arrived, and the winter of death may be

near.

Have we set our house in order? Are we prepared to die as well as to live? Are we looking to the foundations of our hope of a blessed immortality? Have we built upon that "sure foundation,' Jesus Christ? Or is the lamentation of the prophet of old over Israel applicable to us:"The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved?" Jer. viii. 20. Let us not forget, in the pleasures and pursuits of time, the realities of eternity; let us not dream away what little may remain of life; but do at once what we know ought to be done, for the winter of death will soon overtake us, and the last day will try us, and test the sincerity of our faith, and overwhelm the unbeliever and hypocrite in eternal shame and ruin!

S. W. P.

A PHILANTHROPIST.

IN Manchester, we are told in the "Daily News," it is the custom of the criminal class to celebrate the liberation of a comrade by a day of carousal. They wait at the door of the prison, carry him off in triumph, and thus guard against any extraordinary circumstance, any exception to the general rule, which might occur to save him. But of late years, it seems, an opposition has started; an influence of an opposite kind is lying in wait, and now and then a brand is plucked from the burning. This opposing force, it may be thought, is the respectable class of Manchester, who have thus arrayed themselves against the criminal class. Alas! no. The good angel is a solitary individual-a humble workman in a foundry, who obeys the Divine impulse

without knowing why; and without a theory or a plan, neutralizes alike the destinies of the law and the allurements of the law-breakers.

This individual is Thomas Wright, an old man of threescore-and-ten, and the father of nineteen children. The following account is given by the paper we have mentioned of the way in which his attention was first attracted to the prison world:-" There was a man of a sailorlike appearance who had got work at the foundry as a labourer; he was a steady and industrious workman, and had obtained the favourable notice of Mr. Wright. One day the employer came and asked if he (Wright) was aware that they had a returned transport in the place? He had learned that the sailor was such. Mr. Wright desired to be allowed to speak with the man, and ascertain the fact. Permission was given; and during the day he took a casual opportunity, not to excite the suspicions of the other workmen, of saying to the man, 'My friend, where did you work last?' 'I've been abroad,' was the reply. The man was not a liar. After some conversation, he confessed, with tears in his eyes, that he had been a convict. He said he was desirous of not falling into ill courses, and kept his secret, to avoid being refused work if he told the truth. Wright was convinced that in the future he would act honestly, and repairing to their common employer, begged, as a personal favour, that the man might not be discharged. He even offered to become bound for his good conduct. This was ten years ago; and the prejudice against persons who had ever broken the law was more intense than it is now. There were objections; and other partners had to be consulted in so delicate a matter. Great numbers of men were employed in the foundry; and should the matter come to their knowledge, it would have the appearance to them of encouraging crime. This was on the day of paying wages for the week. Before night, however, Wright had the satisfaction to obtain a promise that, upon his responsibility, the convict should be kept. The following day Wright went to look after his protegé he was gone. On inquiring, he found he had been paid off and discharged the previous night. It was a mistake. The first order for his dismissal had not been countermanded, and gone he was. Mr. Wright at once sent off a messenger to the man's