animals, or "two beastly foreigners." In Mandalay, however, nowadays, at least with respect to Englishmen, this is considered more graphic than civil. A hint of the same style of enumeration occurs in the English "twenty head of cattle," and perhaps in the military "five hundred sabres," or, "two thousand bayonets," where the weapon is more typical and perhaps of greater value than the man who wields it.

Chinese and Siamese perhaps exceed the Burman language in the number of almost identically sounding syllables, in which the slightest difference of intonation makes a change of sense, but most people are of opinion that it is quite rich enough. Thus pay in its simple form may mean (1) the palmyra palm, or leaf, whence pay-sah, a palm leaf book; (2) an anvil; (3) to have the edge, or point turned; (4) to lay the ears back, as a horse; (5) to be dull of sight, or blunted in feelings; (6) to be dirty; (7) an euphonic verbal affix.

Pay, with the heavy accent (denoting a lengthening of the sound) means to give, and pay-sah in this form, to give in marriage.

Hpay, with the heavy accent (practically the same sound to an Englishman's ears) means (1) to scab over; (2) to ward off evil; (3) to tack off shore with a boat in order to gain an offing; (4) to be broken down in bodily strength or ability.

Pè with the light accent (cutting the sound short) means (1) the stern of a boat; (2) to steer; (3) to be broken off, to crumble. Pè, with the heavy accent, means (1) a measure of weight equal to six seeds of the Abrus precatorius; (2) any leguminous plant, such as bears seed in a pod, of which there are many varieties including a pè-sah; (3) to put aside, reject; (4) madam, a familiar term applied by men to their intimate female friends; (5).

a square measure of ground; (6) one of the four states of punishment. The last three usually have a- prefixed to them.

Hpè, with the light accent, means (1) to break off, as a small piece from a larger; (2) to separate and take a different course.

Hpè, with the heavy accent, means (1) satin; (2) a playing card, hpè-sah hpè-chay meaning to have shifting luck; (3) to get out of the way; (4) to remove. Chay hpè, derived from this, means to be splay-footed.

Thus we have nearly thirty separate meanings for a syllable which in rapid speaking seems, to an unpractised ear, to have throughout the same sound. This is philologically interesting, but practically it spoils the temper.

Myin, means to see, high, and a horse; and to translate the sentence "I saw a high horse," and read the same aloud, is a good test, both of the knowledge of the arrangement of words, of the accent, and of the power of appreciating delicacies of pronunciation.

I do not remember ever coming across an Englishman who could properly appreciate the difference in sound between kyoung, a cat, and kyoung, a monastery. They always lose their temper when you try to impress it on them. Hundreds of other instances might be given, but they would only tire and perhaps frighten off those who do not know the language, and would certainly irritate those who have begun the study of it.

It is a common saying that you cannot pronounce Burmese properly till you take to betel chewing. I may be allowed to protest that this is said more because it looks smart than because it is true. It is, however, undeniable that the practice of chewing renders it very much more difficult to catch the sound of a word. The result appears in the grotesque names which have been given to

various places and things by old writers. Captain Hiram Cox persisted in calling the town-clerks mew-jerrys, which was neither correct nor dignified. Still the stately old king, Upa-Raza, had greater cause of complaint when he appeared in another book as "Upper Roger."

It is certain that in rapid talk, and among the lower classes, words do get softened down most remarkably. Nyoung-oo, the great lacquer manufacturing town, dwindles away in the colloquial to Ngee-a-o, and the consequences are lamentably evident in the transliteration of its name in many English books. Similarly a youth named Thah Ḥtoon Oung, will respond to the call of A-o-aw, but this hardly justifies the assertion that you do not need consonants in Burmese at all.

CHAPTER XXXII.

SELECTIONS FROM THE LITERATURE.

THE following is taken from the Mahah Yaza-win.

The Queen Shin-saw-boo.

In Ava there lived a very learned pohn-gyee called Bamèsodah, and a rich man in the capital gave him his son Damma-saydee to bring up and instruct. This youth was possessed of very wonderful powers, due to virtues which he had exercised in previous existences. By means of these powers he brought to life one day a fowl which had been roasted and placed on the platter before his teacher. From this circumstance, to the present day, the place where the fowl scratched and sought its food is called Shway Gyet-yet [the more popular legend assigns a different reason]. On the same day it happened that a young hunter appeared in the monastery and begged the holy brother to teach him wisdom. As a present he had brought with him a roasted hare. He lifted the cover off the basket and the hare sprang up alive and healthy immediately and ran away. The pohn-gyee was very much struck at these two miracles, all the more because they happened on the same day, and he took the two highly gifted youths for his only scholars and taught them

all he knew in the way of scholarship and mystic lore. Both were very zealous in their studies, but Damma-saydee learnt one letter more than his fellow-student.

Engwa-min, Theehathoo, the Burman king, levied war upon the King of Rangoon, Bya-ngya-yan, and having defeated him, carried off his sister Saw-boh-mee. The young lady, who now got the name of Shin-saw-boo, agreed to share his throne on the condition that she should be allowed to institute religious ceremonies to remind her of the holy pagoda of her own Talaing town. Captivated by her charms, the king consented, and recommended to her notice, as being the most likely to give her aid, the two most highly honoured pohn-gyees of the capital, Damma-saydee and Damma-bahla, the ex-hunter. The crafty princess managed to arrange a love-intrigue with the two yahans, and by their aid succeeded in escaping to Rangoon, where in no very great time she was placed on the throne and built a golden monastery for the two holy men to live in. Out of gratitude she wished to raise one of her two friends to share the throne with her, but the choice was a hard matter, for they were both equally well-favoured and no man could say which was the more learned. She resolved therefore to put their wit to the test and to abide by the issue.

The two holy men were summoned to her audiencechamber, where before her throne were placed two almsbowls: one perfectly empty and plain, but decorated with the royal insignia; the other more elaborately worked and full of the choicest delicacies. The rivals were bidden to place themselves, according to their liking, by the one or the other. Damma-bahla chose the juncates, but the wiser Damma-saydee walked straight to the royal thabeht. The latter therefore received the hand of the queen after he had left the order.