that is " textile fungi," as if they were
woven masses of matted threads; likewise
called Botrytoideæ, from " a bunch of grapes,"
because they produce microscopic erect
filaments, bearing terminal, free, and single spores;
the whole resembling a loose or scant-berried
bunch of grapes standing erect on its stalk.
V. Truffles, Morelles, &c., prized by cooks and
beloved by gourmands. And VI. Moulds,
Physomycetes, or " bladder-fungi;" likewise
Mucorideæ, from the Latin for mouldiness;
consisting of microscopic filaments, bearing
stalked sacs, containing numerous minute
sporules. Three, therefore, out of the six
orders (composing a very large proportion of
the plants belonging to this strange class) come
within the range of microscopic observation.

How quaintly-shaped they are, how curious,
how brightly tinted, is seen at a glance on
opening Mr. Cooke's elegant and inexpensive
volume. His text tells you where to look for
them, while his coloured plates remove all
difficulty in recognising them. They require
no remote researches. A hunting-ground a few
roods square will set you up with quite a stock
of species. Mr. Cooke holds it to be a great
mistake to endeavour to go over a large tract
of ground. He has spent a whole day in a little
chalk-pit, which had fallen into disuse, and
grown wild; fifty yards into a wood is as much
as he dares attempt alone, and a spot six yards
square has afforded him occupation for hours —
for it is far better to examine a small space
thoroughly than to scamper on, mile after mile,
finding nothing by the way. Nor are they hard
to discover. They stare at you, and beg your
notice, on the twigs of shrubs and the stems of
plants; they come out in bright patches on
broken palings; they muster strongly in
crowded tufts on ancient thatch, straw, reeds,
and matting; they peep out at you, entreating
collection, from beneath a withered flower or
a decaying leaf; they interleave your books and
spot your paper; they invade your garden, and,
unless he be blind and noseless, give
unmistakable warning to your slovenly gardener;
they intrude themselves even upon your dinner-
table, sometimes with approbation, occasionally
to receive a reprimand. For, although fine
marbled, green-veined Stilton is welcome,
mouldiness in bread, preserves, and pickles, is
apt to draw down censure on the housewife.

But they worm their way even into the
master's sanctum. The cellar door offers no
hindrance to them; insinuating their syphons
between the cork and the bottle, they suck out the
sweetness and aroma of his wine. Their magnificent
festoons in the London Docks may therefore
be less innocuous than picturesque. They
have been accused of sundry serious offences.
The breeding of ringworm in the head is not
much; the wholesale slaughter of silkworms is
something; the introduction and spread of
cholera is more; nor are the potato and vine
diseases trifles.

And many of their forms are merely masks,
larval phases, disguises under which their true
rank and quality is hidden for a time, often
indefinite. Their metamorphoses puzzle the
learned. " Who is who?" among the Mildews
and the Blights, is less easy to answer than the
questions of Pinnock's catechisms. Whither So-
and-So migrate? — whether from the berberry
they shift to the wheat — are equally debatable
facts. In spite of which great obstacles, Mr.
Cooke has given us their portraits larger than
life, enabling us, under his pleasant guidance, if
not to get rid of our Smuts and Moulds, at
least to arrange them in lucid order, so as to be
able to find them in case of need.

FOUND DROWNED.

"NEVER give up, my lad; keep a stout heart,"
I says. " You ain't the first man as has been
outer work;" and him as I spoke to was myself,
number one, you know; for just then he was
the only friend I'd got, and a precious encumbrance
he was, too, without anything to do, and
wanting to eat and sleep, which costs money in
London. So " never give up," I says; and
then I goes slowly along the streets, looking at
the bright shops, and thinking what a little
would set me up; and there I was, hanging
about anywheres, nowheres like, till the shops
was all shut up, and the streets nearly empty;
and there I stood in front o' the Exchange,
listening to the clocks striking ten, some all
together, and some in a slobbery way, one arter
the other, till they'd all done, and it seemed so
quiet and still after.

"There's ten o' 'em," I says, putting my
hands a little further down into my trousers-
pockets, and looking up at the bright stars as I
leaned my back up again a lamp-post; and then
I says again, " What are you going to do for a
bed to-night, my lad?"

Now this made me feel rather low and down,
for I was precious close drove. I warn't
particularly hungry, for I'd had a penny cup o'
coffee and a ha'porth o' bread-and-butter at five
o'clock; but I could have said " what for" to a
good supper. But there was no supper coming,
so I stood there and felt low.

There was all the stars bright and clear just
as I used to see 'em down at home, and then I
thought about how easily I might have got a.
lodging o' some kind or other, in a straw
heap, or between a couple o' stacks, or in a barn,
and how it wouldn't have been much to have
slep' out in the open air down there; while
uphere ——

"Ah!" I says, "there's plenty o' chimney-
stacks up here, my lad, but it's rather windy
about them, so you'd best think o' something'
else."

So I jogs on just in time, for there was a
policeman coming up to start me; and I goes
on and on till I gets to them steps close to
London Bridge, where you goes down into
Thames-street, and looking down 'em I saw
several chaps curled up in the warmest corners,
as if they meant to stay there for the night. But