Page:Hardwicke's Science-Gossip - Volume 1.pdf/241

Here, there, and everywhere are springing the ubiquitous "Toadstools." Even the columns of the Times have honoured the "Stinkhorn" hy permitting its appearance (in the gardens of astonished suburbans) to be recorded side by side with events in which kings and emperors were the heroes. Starting with this rather absurd name, in so far as its meaning is generally understood, it behoveth us to suggest a better derivation and signification. This we think it possible to do by transferring its origin to the German; how this may be affected by Saxon, or Anglo-Saxon, we are not learned enough in linguistic lore to determine. If instead of "Toadstool" we read "Todstuhl," and transfer from the poor inoffensive reptile the odium, or honour, to the great leveller of all, "Tod," or "Death," we have in the "stool of death" a much more appropriate idea than the popular one delineated in our woodcut. Here we encounter another vulgar error—for vulgar errors and prejudices are always numerous enough with regard to things that are but little understood,—and this regards all fungi as poisonous or unfit for food, except a very favoured few (somewhat less than half a dozen), whilst in reality we have fifty or sixty kinds found in Great Britain, such as would bring tears of delight into the eyes of the genuine epicure, if they were dressed and placed before him. How often have we smiled at the incredulous stare which greeted our announcement that we intended to sup or breakfast on a gigantic puff-ball; and many a time have we been consoled by an Irish friend that we might find ourselves dead in bed some fine morning if we persisted in making what would emphatically be our "last meal," on such abominations as "Fairy-ring Champignons" or "Chantarelles." Yet, after all, we are by no means hazardous, not like friend who would eat almost any kind, till he narrowly escaped being poisoned. Our "toadstool"-eating propensities are always restricted to species which have been well tested, and are eaten by some people in some country or other, and even many of such we have left untasted. There is, however, one little infatuation to which we must confess,—it is in favour of the great puff-ball. In Norfolk they are called "Bulfers," and are common there in harvest-time, as large as one's head, and would afford a hearty meal for a dozen people. These we always condemn to the frying-pan whenever fortunate enough to secure them, and such friends as have partaken this relish with us—a number by no means small—have unanimously resolved in the future to follow so excellent an example.

This season of the year is eminently prolific in all the larger kinds of fungi; microscopic species can be met with at any time, but "toadstools" are the privilege of autumn. Now and then we hear of their upheaving pavements and hearthstones, but such freaks are not common. In every wood, meadow, or pasture; along any green lane, about rotten stumps, wherever there is sufficient moisture and decaying vegetable substances, they are sure to be met with. Sometimes of a brilliant red, or a golden yellow, a lurid green, a dusky grey, or of an ivory whiteness. Occasionally changing, when broken, from a whitish flesh to blue, or brown, or yellow, or with a faint tinge of red. Some leathery, tough, and dry; and others, whenever bruised, exuding a milky fluid, not only white like milk, but yellow, and in one instance changing to green. If the colouring is varied, so also is the form. Even restricting our observation to those which have a stem surmounted by a cap, as in the common mushroom, we shall notice some in which the stem is delicate and fragile, scarcely seeming to possess sufficient strength to support its head, whilst others are so obese in their bodies that the cap seems too small to cover them. Then the cap itself, now conical, now flat, now spherical, and now funnel-shaped, is as prolific in variety. If such a cap unceremoniously kicked off, another feature, hitherto unseen, will greet the eye of the observer. Beneath the "parasol" or pileus, as the more scientific would term it, in many instances parallel plates or gills will diverge from the stem; but these plates are sometimes replaced by tubes glued together, so as to resemble pores, and, in less common instances, instead of tubes or pores, teeth or spines will clad the whole under-surface. To the "toadstool"—we suppose they are all "toadstools," for we hear no other name—these are very important processes, for they bear the seed of future generations. Whether gills, or pores, or teeth, upon or about them are clustered minute bodies, called the spores, which, when ripened, fall upon the soil beneath, or are scattered, and, in future days, originate another batch of toadstools. If we will take the trouble to gather one or two of these caps when fully expanded, and place them with the under-surface downwards,