intersected every where by rivers and canals, and teeming with a numerous and industrious population.

In about an hour from the time when I began the ascent, I reached the porch of the temple. Some idle-looking Priests were lounging about the steps which led up to the first range of buildings. As soon as I was observed, one of them ran off and informed the Superior or Abbot, who came down and received me with great politeness. I told him I had come to see the temple, of which I had often heard; and requested he would send some one to conduct me over it. An old Priest clothed in a yellow gown now presented himself, and offered to conduct me through the various parts of this extensive edifice, and over the grounds. I thanked him for his politeness, and followed him.

This temple is built upon the same plan as that at Tein-tung, near Ningpo. A description of one would nearly do for the other. It consists of three principal buildings, one behind the other on the side of the hill; the second being built on a higher foundation than the first, and the third in like manner higher than the second. At right angles with the three large temples on each side are the dwellings of the Priests. The "three precious Buddhas," past, present, and future, the deity with numerous arms, and many others, crowned these temples. In one I observed upwards of a hundred cushions on which the devotees kneel in front of the idols, and candles and incense were burning in all directions.

Having seen the principal temples, I was then led to the kitchen and dining-room. When it is remembered that upwards of a hundred Priests get their meals daily here, it may be easily imagined that these places are worthy of a visit. The dining-room is a large square building, having a number of tables placed across it, at which the Priests sit and eat their frugal meals. At the time of my visit they had just sat down to dinner, so that I had an opportunity of seeing a greater number of them in one place than I had ever seen before. They appeared a strange and motley assembly most of them had a most stupid and unintellectual appearance, these were generally the lower orders of the priesthood. The Abbot, and those who ranked highest, were intelligent and active looking men; but all had a kind of swarthy paleness of countenance, which was not agreeable to look upon. Many of them rose as I entered their dining-hall, and politely asked me to sit down and eat rice. I thanked them, but declined the invitation, and proceeded with an inspection of the place. The wonders shown the visiters in the kitchen are some enormously large coppers in which the rice is boiled.

I was now taken to the library; which contains an extensive assortment of religious books, carefully locked up in presses, and apparently seldom perused. I had heard that in this part of the building there was a precious relic, nothing less than one of Buddha's teeth, and other things, which were sometimes shown to visiters with a great deal of ceremony. Having requested the Priest to show me these things, he led me to a small temple adjoining, where he said they were kept. "Have you any money in your pocket?" said he with great gravity: "for, before this precious box can be opened, I must burn incense on this altar." I gave him a small piece of money, but told him that as I did not worship Buddha I could not burn incense upon the altar, and that the money I gave him as a reward for his civility. "Do you not worship Buddha in your country?" he asked. I replied that we did not. "Then whom do you worship?" I pointed upward, and said that we worshipped the great God who made the heavens

and the earth. "O yes," said he; "his name is Ye-su, is it not?" They had known something of the Roman Catholic religion, it appeared; there being in this part of China a number of converts to that faith. While this conversation was going on, one of the Priests had lighted two candles, and was burning incense on the altar. "Now," said he, "come and see the precious tooth." I stepped up on the altar; and, the front of a large case being removed, the relics were exposed to view, protected by a grating of iron bars. On a flat bason in front lay the so-called tooth,-a large whitish substance, about six inches square, and much more like a stone than a tooth. Behind this was another relic, which appeared to me much more curious than the first. It appeared to be a small piece of crystal cut in the form of a little vase, with a curious-looking substance inside. I was afterwards informed that this was only a crystal bottle with the relic suspended in some way from its mouth; but, being inside the bars already noticed, I could not examine it very minutely. "Now," said the Priest, "look from this side, and tell me what you see." I looked from the side indicated, and saw what appeared very like a man's head with the eyes staring at me. I was informed, however, that this was a something which had grown on Buddha's forehead; and that, whenever the same thing was observed upon the heads of mortals, it was a sign of their having arrived at a very high state of perfection, approaching to the gods. "Now, turn to the other corner, and tell me what colour the relic appears to you." I did so, and the substance, whatever it was, presented a reddish hue. "Ah, that is very good," said the Priest; "that is a good omen; for it appears of that colour only to the most favoured persons. It appears of different colours to different individuals; but that which you have seen is the best."

The grating prevented me from having a closer examination of these curiosities, and I was obliged to be contented with the information I had obtained respecting them from the Priests. When I returned to Foo-choofoo, I requested Mr. Morrison (a son of the well-known Dr. Morrison, one of the earliest and best of Chinese scholars) to send for his teacher, in order, if possible, to get further information. This old gentleman was a native of the city of Shaou-hing-foo, a place famed in China for its literary men. He, too, had visited the temple of Koo-shan, and had seen the precious relics. Upon questioning him, he gave us the same account as I had already received from the Priests........

I wandered away along a paved path that led me round the side of the mountain, amidst vegetation that had been planted and reared by the hand of nature alone. The Chinese fir (Pinus Sinensis) and a noble species of Picea were the only trees of any size; but the path was lined with many beautiful shrubs, among which the Azalea was most conspicuous. It was spring time, and these beautiful flowers were just bursting into bloom. I have often seen them highly cultivated in England, and they certainly produce a most gorgeous effect in our greenhouses and at our flower-shows; but my taste leads me to enjoy them more when growing wild and free on the mountain-side, peeping out from amongst the brushwood, or mingling their glowing colours with other flowers, and improving themselves by the contrast.

My progress onward was at last arrested by a steep precipice where the walk ended, and on the top of which a summer-house had been erected. I entered the house, and sat down upon one of the benches placed there for the visiter. The view which I now obtained was one of the grandest I had seen for many a day, and reminded me more of the Scottish Highlands

than of any other scenery. Above me, towering in majestic grandeur, was the celebrated peak of Koo-shan, still a thousand feet higher, as I have said, than where I stood. Below, I looked down upon rugged and rocky ravines, in many places barren, and in others clothed with trees and brushwood, but perfectly wild. To afford, as it were, a striking contrast to this scenery, my eye next rested on the beautiful valley of the Min, in which the town of Foo-choo-foo stands. The river was winding through it, and had its surface studded with boats and junks sailing to and fro, and all engaged in active business. Its fields were green, and were watered by numerous canals; while the background to this beautiful picture presented hills nearly as high as Koo-shan, out from amongst which the river runs, and where it is lost to the eye.

There was still another sight to see, and one which is much prized by the Chinese, that is, the sunrise from the peak of Koo-shan. Many sleep in the temple, and by torchlight reach the summit of the mountain in time to see the rising sun. This, however, I did not witness; but I can easily fancy what a striking effect would be produced upon the mind of an inland Chinaman, in particular, when he saw for the first time the sun rising apparently out of the ocean.

THE COPYING ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH.

THIS invention, which has for its object the transmission of copies of the handwriting of correspondents, is now in such an advanced state, that Mr. Bakewell has brought it before the public, by delivering a lecture at the Russell Institution, and by exhibiting the instrument on the following day at the same place. The principle of the invention is extremely simple. The messages to be transmitted are written on tinfoil with sealing-wax varnish, and applied in that state to a cylinder on the transmitting instrument. A metal style connected with the voltaic battery presses lightly on the writing; and, as the cylinder revolves, the style is carried by means of a fine screw, on which it traverses, from the top to the bottom of the lines of writing. By this arrangement the style passes several times over each line, but in different parts of the letters. The receiving instrument is similarly constructed; but on to that cylinder, paper moistened with a solution of prussiate of potass and diluted muriatic acid is applied; and the metal style consists of a piece of fine steel wire. The electric current from the positive pole of the voltaic battery passes from the steel wire through the paper; and, the muriatic acid being decomposed by the electricity, the chlorine attacks the steel, and produces a deposition of chloride of iron on the paper, which is instantly converted into prussian blue by the prussiate of potass. By this process, therefore, when the instruments are in motion, the steel point of the receiving-cylinder draws a succession of blue lines spirally on the paper whilst the electricity continues to pass through it; but, when the electric current is interrupted by the varnish-writing, the point ceases to mark. The small intervals caused by the cessation of marking, where the varnish-writing interposes, produces an exact copy of the written message on the paper; the letters appearing white on a ground composed of blue lines drawn very closely together, so as to seem almost like a plain surface of colour.

The advantages of this means of telegraphic communication were stated to be-entire freedom from error, as the messages transmitted are fac-similes

of the originals; authentication of the communications by the transmission of copies of the handwriting; increased rapidity, to such an extent that a single wire may be as effective as ten with the needle-telegraph; and consequent economy in the construction of telegraphic lines of communication. The secrecy of correspondence would also be maintained in a greater degree by the copying telegraph, as it would afford peculiar facility for transmitting messages in cipher; and the telegraph clerks, instead of being compelled by their duties to read all the messages transmitted, might be forbidden from perusing any portion but the address. As an additional means of secrecy, the messages may be transmitted invisibly, by moistening the paper with diluted muriatic acid alone, the writing being subsequently rendered legible by application of the prussiate of potass solution. The instantaneous appearance of the writing on an apparently blank slip of paper, when washed with the solution, as exhibited by Mr. Bakewell in his experiments, has a very astonishing effect, and the audience loudly expressed their surprise and gratification.-Spectator.

FRANKLIN AND CHATEAUBRIAND.

THESE eminent men were, perhaps, hardly more distinguished from their humbler contemporaries by force of genius, than from each other by the wide difference of their intellectual character. Not very unequal in power or influence, they were totally dissimilar in both; and the reader is probably curious to know upon what principle we have associated two authors whose works seem to defy a joint consideration. This is easily explained. The fact is, that several interesting autobiographies, chiefly of distinguished foreigners, have been recently published in this country. They are valuable contributions to literary and intellectual history, while at the same time they serve to point and impress many a wholesome moral. From among these we select for notice the lives of Franklin and Chateaubriand, partly for their superior attractions, and partly for the contrast they afford. It is proposed to characterise, in a rather summary but not hasty manner, the peculiar excellencies of these celebrated men; which are sufficiently exemplified in the auto-histories they have left behind them. Each Memoir is an epitome of its author's life and writings, as well as a matured and finished specimen of his style; and altogether becomes (though undesignedly) the unflattering mirror of his whole moral and intellectual being. It follows, therefore, that a careful study of these autobiographies will fully instruct us in the literary and personal characteristics of the writers: for, what they were, or did, or suffered, or acquired, is there delivered over to us under their own hand and seal; and the freedom of their revelations may be held to counteract the partiality of their judgments.

Nothing could more faithfully reflect the character of Benjamin Franklin than the record he has left us of himself. It is really a photographic portraiture, in which none of the significant details that composed his real greatness are either omitted or refined away. Herein he appears (as indeed he was) the very type of the Anglo-Saxon character, the representative of English practical wisdom. In him the influence of race predominates over that of country; the former instinctively animates his whole nature, the latter is comparatively feeble and acquired. His character is not materially biassed by the external or political features of the land of his birth.

He is hardly so much American as English. As a judicious patriot, indeed, he promptly and sagaciously serves the community among whom his father's fortunes caused him to be thrown; but he stands among the more enthusiastic spirits of the Revolution with temper, moderation, and experience, such as unite in English statesmanship. He was the Alfred of the transatlantic commonwealth; if less single in his glory, and less authoritative in his office, yet endowed with the same enlightened spirit of amelioration, the same rational desire of compromise between the ideal and the possible, the same ambition of the widest usefulness. His genius is the sublime of common sense: his virtue and happiness (limited and illusory as they unfortunately were) result from the supremacy of his will, the invariable temperance of his life and manners, and the practical direction of his pursuits. Separately considered, his actions are trivial, and his maxims common-place; but, in their connexion with his fortunes and his philosophy, the former rise into a pyramid of exemplary success, and the latter give laws to a nation's daily life. His deism was of so attractive a kind, and so recommended by a thousand personal and social virtues, that there is reason to fear that many have turned with disgust from the nominal Christianity of other men to the worship of that indefinite providence which he adored. All these traits in Franklin, whether of excellency or imperfection, were essentially English in their mode of development. If his masculine intellect scorned the feeble verbosity of French declamation, and his truer taste despised the littleness of French vanity and ambition, so did his temperate judgment condemn the sensuality and egotism of French infidel philosophy. Removed from such a people by the homely character of his greatness, he was as far removed from them in the modest style of his unbelief. In Voltaire we see a fiendish activity against the Revelation which condemned his theories and frowned upon his pleasures; and in Rousseau, a moral blindness and corruption which darkened and tainted his whole moral being, even while he boasted of the unsullied purity of his soul. But in Franklin there is too sincere a love of virtue to allow of scorn towards religion. With piety the most ardent, (as that of Whitefield,) if he has no sympathy, he has yet no quarrel: he can even admire the eloquence and earnestness of the Preacher; and, giving him credit for the simplest sincerity, he refuses to denounce it as priestcraft and pretence. No extract from the autobiography of Franklin could adequately represent its excellence. A brick is proverbially an insufficient sample of a house it may indicate the strength of the material, but cannot prove the thickness or coherence of its walls; and much less the amplitude of its interior, or the external beauty of its style. In like manner, a passage from the life of Franklin would show the simplicity of its details, and might suggest the plainness of the whole structure: but we could not infer from it the admirable patience, skill, and principle, that slowly, but securely, added stone to stone, and proportioned part to part; that sacrificed no true advantage or convenience to a mere trick of show; but, seeking with directness the real objects which the edifice was designed to serve, rested satisfied that it should owe its beauty to its symmetry, and its consideration to its importance. It is a charming narrative of an exemplary career, calculated to interest and improve readers of every class. The staple of every man's life consists of ordinary duties and employments; and, in the proper performance of these with a healthy and hopeful perseverance, every man may derive assistance, counsel, and encouragement, from the brave New-Englander's career. We are all journeying with him on the level road of life; but if