Ctesias asserts that there is in India[2969] a river called Hypobarus, a word which signifies “bearer of all good things;” that this river flows from the north into the Eastern Ocean, where it discharges itself near a mountain covered with trees which produce electrum; and that these trees are called “siptachoræ,” the meaning of which is “intense sweetness.” Mithridates says, that off the shores of Germany there is an island called “Serita,”[2970] covered with a kind of cedar, from which amber falls upon the rocks. According to Xenocrates, this substance is called, in Italy, not only “succinum,” but “thieum” as well, the Scythian name of it, for there also it is to be found, being “sacrium:” others, he says, are of opinion that it is a product of Numidia. But the one that has surpassed them all is Sophocles, the tragic poet; a thing that indeed surprises me, when I only consider the surpassing gravity of his lofty style, the high repute that he enjoyed in life, his elevated position by birth at Athens, his various exploits, and his high military command. According to him, amber is produced in the countries beyond India, from the tears that are shed for Meleager, by the birds called “meleagrides!”[2971] Who can be otherwise than surprised that he should have believed such a thing as this, or have hoped to persuade others to believe it? What child, too, could possibly be found in such a state of ignorance as to believe that birds weep once a year, that their tears are so prolific as this, or that they go all the way from Greece, where Meleager died, to India to weep? “But then,” it will be said, “do not the poets tell many other stories that are quite as fabulous?” Such is the fact, no doubt, but for a person seriously to advance such an absurdity with reference to a thing so common as amber, which is imported every day and so easily proves the mendacity of this assertion, is neither more nor less than to evince a supreme contempt for the opinions of mankind, and to assert with impunity an intolerable falsehood.