Do you recollect that I told you at the beginning of this story that the Phoenix made the Old Brown Coat? Yes, the Phoenix made it, but not the one that was living then; for the Phoenix, you know, lives for five hundred years; there is only one Phoenix at a time, and when the old bird has lived his five hundred years, he builds a bonfire of sweet spices and lies down on it; when he is burned to ashes, out of the cinders rises up a new Phoenix with crimson and golden feathers who also lives five hundred years, and so on. It looks something like an eagle, though to be sure it is a great deal more magnificent than the eagle, and is a very wise bird. I do not know how old the present Phoenix is; persons differ about his age. Now it was a Phoenix--surely the great-great-great-grandfather of the one who was living in the reign of Shahtah, King of Percan, that made the Old Brown Coat; and the descendants of that bird, called generally Phoenix the Tailor, took a great interest in the coat and in all who wore it. The Phoenix who was living at the time of this story, was very much concerned about the stealing of the coat. He was a very old bird; he was four hundred and ninety-five years old when Shahtah was killed, and of course knew a great deal. "Such a thing has not happened in my memory," said he, gravely, "but the times are growing very degenerate. When I was young there was a great deal more respect shown to the Old Brown Coat. That coat was made by the Tailor, my great-great-great grandfather. I can remember when the whole kingdom would have held their breath if there had happened a rent in the coat. But the times are sadly degenerate. I am sure I don't know what the world will come to after I die."