tree, rising with lofty stem, bears mellow fruits not about to fall on the ground. This grove, these woods, a single bird, the phoenix, inhabits, single, but it lives reproduced by its own death. It obeys and submits to Phœbus, a remarkable attendant. Its parent, nature has given it to possess this office. When at its first rising the saffron morn grows red, when it puts to flight the stars with its rosy light, thrice and four times it plunges its body into the sacred waves, thrice and four times it sips water from the living stream. It is raised aloft, and takes its seat on the highest top of the lofty tree, which alone looks down upon the whole grove; and turning itself to the fresh risings of the nascent l'hoebus, it awaits his rays and rising beam. And when the sun has thrown back the threshold of the shining gate, and the bright gleam of the first light has shone forth, it begins to pour strains of sacred song, and to hail the new light with wondrous voice, which neither the notes of the nightingale nor the flute of the Muses can equal with Cyrrhæan strains. But neither is it thought that the dying swan can imitate it, nor the tuneful strings of the lyre of Mercury. After that Phoebus has brought back his horses to the open heaven, and continually advancing, has displayed his whole orb, it ap plauds with thrice-repeated flapping of its wings, and having thrice adored the fire-bearing head, is silent. And it also distinguishes the swift hours by sounds not liable to error by day and night; an overseer of the groves, a venerable priestess of the wood, and alone admitted to thy secrets, O Phoebus. And when it has now accomplished the thousand years of its life, and length of days has rendered it burdensome, in order that it may renew the age which has glided by, the fates pressing it, it flees from the beloved couch of the accustomed grove. And when it has left the sacred places, through a desire of being born again, then it seeks this world, where death reigns. Full of years, it directs it swift flight into Syria, to which Venus herself has given the name of Phoenice; and through trackless deserts it seeks the retired groves in the place where a remote wood lies concealed in the glens. There it chooses a lofty palm, with top reaching to the heavens, which has the pleasing name of Phoenix, from the bird, and where no hurtful living creature can break through, or slimy serpent, or any bird of prey. Then Æolus shuts in the winds in hanging caverns, lest they should injure the bright air with their blasts, or lest a cloud collected by the south wind through the empty sky should remove the rays of the sun, and be a hindrance to the bird. Afterwards it builds for itself either a nest or a tomb, for it perishes that it may live; yet it reproduces itself. Hence it collects juices and odors, which the Assyrian gathers from the rich wood, which the wealthy Arabian gathers; which also either the Pygmæan nations, or India crops. or the Sabæan land produces from its soft bosom. Hence it heaps together cinnamon and the odor of the far-scented amommum,

and balsams with mixed leaves. Neither the twig of the mild cassia nor of the fragrant acanthus is absent, nor the tears and rich drops of frankincense. To these it adds tender ears of flourishing spikenard, and joins the two pleasing pastures of myrrh. Immediately it places its body about to be changed on the strewed nest, and its quiet limbs on such a couch. Then with its mouth it scatters juices around and upon its limbs, about to die with its own funeral rites. Then amid various odours it yields up its life, nor fears the faith of so great a deposit. In the meantime, its body, destroyed by death, which proves the source of life, is hot, and the heat itself produces a flame; and it conceives fire afar off from the light of heaven; it blazes, and is dissolved into ashes. And these ashes collected in death, it fuses, as it were, into a mass, and has an effect resembling seed. From this an animal is said to arise without limbs, but the worm is said to be of a milky color. And it suddenly increases vastly with an imperfectly formed body, and collects itself into the appearance of a well-rounded egg. After this it is formed again, such as its figure was before, and the phoenix, having burst its shell, shoots forth, even as caterpillars in the fields, when they are fastened by a thread to a stone, are wont to to be changed into a butterfly. No food is appointed for it in our world, nor does any one make it his business to feed it while unfledged. It sips the delicate ambrosial dews of heavenly nectar which have fallen from the star bearing pole. It gathers these; with these the bird is nourished in the midst of odors, until it bears a quite perfect natural form. But when it begins to flourish with early youth, it flies forth now about to return to her native abode. Previously, however, it encloses in an ointment of balsam, and in myrrh and dissolved frankincense, all the remains of its own body, and the bones or ashes, and relics of itself, and with pious mouth brings it into a round form, and carrying this with its feet, it goes to the rising of the sun, and tarrying at the altar, it draws it forth in the sacred temple. It shows and presents itself an object of admiration to the beholder; such great beauty is there, such great honor abounds. In the first place, its color is like the brilliancy of that which the seeds of pomegranate when ripe takes under the smooth rind; such color as is contained in the leaves which the poppy produces in the fields, when Flora spreads her garment beneath the blushing sky. Its shoulders and beautiful breasts shine with this covering; and its head, with its neck also, and the upper parts of its back, shine. And its tail is extended, varied with yellow metal, in the spots of which mingled purple blushes. Between its wings there is a bright mark above, as Iris on high is wont to paint a cloud from above. It gleams resplendent with a mingling of the green emerald, and a shining beak of pure horn opens itself. Its eyes are large; you might believe that they were two jacinths; from the middle of which a bright flame

shines. An irradiated crown is fitted to the whole of its head, resembling on high the glory of the head of Phoebus. Scales cover its thighs spangled with yellow metal, but a rosy color paints its claws with honor. Its form is seen to blend the figure of the peacock with that of the painted bird of Phasis. The wingéd creature which is produced in the land of the Arabians, whether it be beast or bird, can scarcely equal its magnitude. It is not, however, slow, as birds which through the greatness of their body have sluggish motions, and a very heavy weight. But it is light and swift, full of royal beauty. Such it always shows itself in the sight of men. Egypt comes hither to such a wondrous sight, and the exulting crowd salutes the rare bird. Immediately they carve its image on the consecrated marble, and mark both the occurrence and the day with a new title. Birds of every kind assemble together; none is mindful of prey, none of fear. Attended by a chorus of birds, it flies through the heavens, and a crowd accompanies it, exulting in the pious duty. But when it has arrived at the regions of pure ether, it presently returns; afterwards it is concealed in its own regions. But Oh, bird of happy lot and fate, to whom the god himself granted to be born from itself! Whether it be female, or male, or neither, or both, happy it, who enters into no compacts with Venus. Death is Venus to it; its only pleasure is in death; that it may be born, it desires previously to die. It is an offspring to itself, its own father and heir, its own nurse, and always a foster-child to itself. It is itself indeed, but not the same, since it is itself, and not itself, having gained eternal life by the blessing of death.

A CURIOUS BILL. The following curious bill is reported to be a true copy from the records of a church in England. Can any reader confirm the authenticity of this statement, or is it merely a ficticious facetia ? DJAFAR.

LONG NAME. There is a town in Wales that glories in the name of

Waste-Basket of Words.

[From Journal of American Folk-Lore, Vol. I,No. II, 1888.]

Estuation." The good father could not discourse of this subject without some passionate Estuation." Sewell's Letter-Book, vol. i, p. 193.-H. W. Heynes, Boston, Mass.

Barn." To dry the corne, which they (the Indians) do carefully upon heaps and mats many days before they barn it up." Roger Williams' "Key into the Language of America" ("R. I. Hist. Soc. Rep." p. 92). The word is used in a similar sense by Shakespeare. Rape of Lucrece," 1. 859: "And useless barns the harvest of his wits."H. W. Haynes.

66

Ill.-Used by negroes in Washington very much as ugly is often employed at the North. The negro mentioned says a horse that is cross, or threatens harm, is ill, though in excellent health.-W. H. Babcock, Washington, D. C.

Levit." Monday, January 1, 1704-5, Col. Hobbey's negro comes about 8 or 9 mane, and sends in by David to have leave to give me a Levit and wish me a happy new year. I admitted it: gave him 3 reals. Sounded very well." Sewell's Diary, vol. ii. p. 121. The editors append this note : "Levit―a blast of a trumpet." in Hudibras, p. ii. c. ii. l. 611.-H. W. Haynes.

The word is found

Mammock. This word, referred to in the first number of the FOLKLORE JOURNAL, is still in use in the District of Columbia. A colored man employed by me frequently complains that the cows "mammock the hay" so badly.-W. H. Babcock.

Retaliation. This word has fared like resent, quoted in the last number. Formerly it was used in a good sense, as well as in a bad one. In the "Boston Town Records," March 11, 1700, we find a vote, "That the Selectmen should cause a piece of plate to be made of the value of 20 pounds, and present the same to Mr. James Taylor as a small retaliation of his service and kindness to the Town." "Seventh Report of Record Commissioners," p. 240.-H. W. Haynes.

Inned. In the "Lawes and Ordinances of Warre," passed by the General Court of the Colony of Massachusetts, in 1675, is an order for "securing the graine inned in the barnes of the several inhabitants." "Colonial Laws" (Whitmore's reprint), p. 240. This word is used by Shakespeare in "All's Well that ends Well," A. i. Sc. 3, "to inn the crop."-H. W. Haynes.

Quarrels. "Something was thrown forcibly against the upper part of the north window, and five or six quarrels broken out." Sewell's Diary, Nov. 27, 1719, vol. iii, p. 235.-H. W. Haynes.

Shanty. The dictionaries give the derivation of this word as from the Irish sean, old, and tig, a house; but Dr. Bouvinot says it is a

corruption of chantier, used by the French Canadians. See "Scottish Review," April, 1887, vol. ix. p. 257.-H. W. Haynes.

Sign.-Constantly used in Washington as a term for marking off the land for corn or potatoes.-W. H. Babcock.

BARDESANES' ASTRONOMICAL CALCULATIONS. Bardesanes, the gnostic, a Syrian who lived in the latter part of the second century at Edessa, and who was a favorite of Agbar Bar Maanu, is memorable for the peculiarity of his doctrines. He calculated at that early date the completion of 6,000 years, in solar days, the revolution of the then known heavenly bodies, and put it on record so that future ages could test his calculations. The following table will show a comparison of his record with modern calculations. This table is calculated on the sidereal revolutions in solar days, as given in H. M. Bouvier's "Familiar Astronomy," 1857, p. 469. His approximations are quite remarkable for the time in which they were made.

EPITAPH ON DIOPHANTUS. The following epitaph on Diophantus is found in "Mathematical Questions and Solutions from the Educational Times," Vol. XLIX, 1888. Will some one give an English translation for those who cannot read the Latin :

Hic Diophantus habet tumulum, qui tempora vitæ
Illius mira denotat arte tibi.

Egit sextantem juvenis; lanugine malas
vestire hinc coepit parte duodecima.

Septante uxori post haec sociatur, et anno
Formosus quinto nascitur inde puer.

Semissem aetatis postquam attigit ille paternae
Infelix subita morte peremptus obit.

Quator aestates genitor lugere superstes

Cogitur: hinc annos illius assequere.

H.