“2.  There is a certain bird called a phoenix.  Of this there is never but one at a time, and that lives five hundred years.  And when the time of its dissolution draws near, that it must die, it makes itself a nest of frankincense, and myrrh, and other spices, into which, when its time is fulfilled, it enters and dies.

“3.  But its flesh, putrefying, breeds a certain worm, which, being nourished by the juice of the dead bird, brings forth feathers; and when it is grown to a perfect state, it takes up the nest in which the bones of its parent lie, and carries it from Arabia into Egypt, to a city called Heliopolis: 

     “4.  And flying in open day in the sight of all men, lays it upon
     the altar of the sun, and so returns from whence it came.

     “5.  The priests then search into the records of the time, and find
     that it returned precisely at the end of five hundred years.”

Business is business, and there is nothing like punctuality, especially in a phoenix.

The few chapters relating to the infancy of the Saviour contain many things which seem frivolous and not worth preserving.  A large part of the remaining portions of the book read like good Scripture, however.  There is one verse that ought not to have been rejected, because it so evidently prophetically refers to the general run of Congresses of the United States: 

     “199.  They carry themselves high, and as prudent men; and though
     they are fools, yet would seem to be teachers.”

I have set these extracts down, as I found them.  Everywhere among the cathedrals of France and Italy, one finds traditions of personages that do not figure in the Bible, and of miracles that are not mentioned in its pages.  But they are all in this Apocryphal New Testament, and though they have been ruled out of our modern Bible, it is claimed that they were accepted gospel twelve or fifteen centuries ago, and ranked as high in credit as any.  One needs to read this book before he visits those venerable cathedrals, with their treasures of tabooed and forgotten tradition.

They imposed another pirate upon us at Nazareth—­another invincible Arab guard.  We took our last look at the city, clinging like a whitewashed wasp’s nest to the hill-side, and at eight o’clock in the morning departed.  We dismounted and drove the horses down a bridle-path which I think was fully as crooked as a corkscrew, which I know to be as steep as the downward sweep of a rainbow, and which I believe to be the worst piece of road in the geography, except one in the Sandwich Islands, which I remember painfully, and possibly one or two mountain trails in the Sierra Nevadas.  Often, in this narrow path the horse had to poise himself nicely on a rude stone step and then drop his fore-feet over the edge and down something more than half his own height.  This brought his nose near the ground, while his tail pointed up toward the sky somewhere, and gave him the appearance of preparing to stand on his head.  A horse cannot look dignified in this position.  We accomplished the long descent at last, and trotted across the great Plain of Esdraelon.