The Silver Medal of the "Little Folks " Legion of Honour.

I have much pleasure in informing my readers that the Silver Medal of the LITTLE FOLKS Legion of Honour will be awarded to the Competitor whose name appears the greatest number of times in the various Lists of Honour published in the Magazine during the twelve months commencing with February. These lists will of course include those of the Eight Competitions announced on page 58 of this number, as well as of all other competitions during the period named. It should be understood by Competitors that one bronze medal only is sent to each of the Members of the Legion ; though their names will of course be printed in the Lists of Honour whenever their work is adjudged worthy either of a prize, or of honourable mention.

The Strength of Toadstools.

Mushrooms, toadstools, and the like, are known to scientific men as "fungi." They possess a remarkable power of raising enormous weights, a fact of which Dr. M. L. Cooke has given several curious examples. A few years ago a town in Hampshire was paved, and shortly afterwards certain streets showed signs of unevenness that could not well be explained, until some of the heaviest stones were at length seen to be completely raised by the growth of toadstools under them. another case a kitchen hearthstone was lifted out of its setting three times, and was only righted by digging up the old bed and laying down a new foundation. Sir Joseph Banks records one of the most extraordinary instances of this power. The wine in a cask kept in a cellar for three years was, at the end of that period, found to have leaked away, and to have produced gigantic fungi, which filled the cellar, and lifted the cask to the roof.

In

Hooking a Snake.

A gentleman while fishing for roach was much disturbed by a fine perch, which he tried to capture. He had hardly baited his hook before he had to draw in the rod in order to disentangle the line, and in doing so he laid rod and bait outside the bed of reeds beside him. Almost immediately afterwards he was astonished to notice a violent tugging at the line, and on pulling it up to find, greatly to his surprise, that he had hooked a fine snake, thirty-four inches long. Though it made wild attempts to escape, the angler soon managed to behead it.

The Last Representative of a Great Man. The descendants of great men, as a rule, disappear in a most mysterious manner from the page of history, but now and again one finds instances of individual cases in which the line of succession has been traced, and which almost always present a woeful contrast, either in genius or worldly prosperity, to the careers of their illustrious ancestors. For example, the last descendant of Leonardo da Vinci, the celebrated Florentine painter, whose picture of "The Last Supper" is famous in every country of the world, followed a very humble calling, and died in great poverty. He was a travelling glazier, and expired in an obscure town in France a quarter of a century ago, in consequence of a fall from the roof of a hothouse which he was repairing.

A Struggle with an Ourang-outang. The Ourang-outang exhibited in London some time since, whose arrival excited a good deal of attention, having been sold to the owner of a menagerie in Paris, the task of removing it from its cage to be "packed up" for the journey to the French capital was entrusted to Dock Perry, a

negro who had previously had charge of other wild animals. He entered the cage-which has three compartments-with cane in hand, and having opened one of the slides, tried to drive the Ourang-outang into it.

The creature, however, objected to the proceeding, and closed with the negro, clasping its long arms firmly around him. Perry, who fortunately is a strongly-built man, grasped the Ourang-outang round the neck, and a most exciting wrestling tussle ensued. In about five minutes the animal was overpowered and driven into the travelling cage prepared for him. Considering the kind of opponent with which he had to deal, the negro was probably fortunate in coming out of the contest with no more serious wound than a bite in the left hand.

Relic of the Last Doge of Venice.

At the Geographical Congress in Venice last year there was exhibited an interesting relic of the last doge as the chief magistrate of the Venetian Republic was styled. It was the linen cap which he (Lewis Manin) wore on the 12th of May, 1797, the last day of his dogate and of the republic. By an old privilege this cap used to be worn under the ducal cap. On the day named Lewis Manin removed it from his head, and gave it to his chamberlain, Bernard Trevison, saying with much emotion, "Take this, I shall require it no more." The genuineness of the relic is placed beyond question, by various documents and declarations.

A Javanese Orchestra.

The poet said that "music hath charms to soothe the savage breast," but when he made that statement it is certain he had not heard the performances of an orchestia that is viewed with great favour in the Dutch island of Java. This band often plays under the most distinguished patronage. The performers, dressed in vests and hats of a black stuff, are seated behind the strangest collection of musical instruments one can imagine. They comprise copper utensils, such as pots and pans of all shapes and sizes, from the small vessel for boiling a couple of eggs to the huge fish-kettle, a number of metal blades and sounding-boards placed on big and little stands of engraved bronze, gongs large and small, and two-stringed violins of uncommon shape. Each performer carries a kind of drum-stick with gutta-percha knob to strike the instruments with. At a sign from the conductor the orchestra plays up, producing a mixture of extraordinary sounds, some of them sweet, silvery, and plaintive, which, however, are usually drowned in the booming of the gongs. Now and then a pleasing melody may be heard, but the general effect of the "music," on European ears at least, is singularly disagreeable. At festivals, and also on occasions of a more mournful description, the band is reinforced by vocalists, chiefly female, whose shrill cries heighten the weird character of the discord. At times, four of the players are told off to go through a curious "dance of lances," for the purpose of making the scene more impressive.