n for her: he fell sick, and soon after died, the victim of
love.

* * * * *

This story forms the 17th of the Twenty-five Tales of a Demon (_Vetala
Panchavinsati_), according to the Sanskrit version found in the _Katha
Sarit Sagara_; but its great antiquity is proved by the circumstance
that it is found in a Buddhistic work dating probably 200 years before
our era--namely, Buddhaghosha's Parables. "Dying for love," says
Richardson, "is considered amongst us as a mere poetical figure, and we
can certainly support the reality by few examples; but in Eastern
countries it seems to be something more, many words in the Arabic and
Persian languages which express love implying also melancholy; madness,
and death." Shakspeare affirms that "men have died, and worms have eaten
them, but not for love." There is, however, one notable instance of this
on record, in the story (as related by Warton, in his _History of
English Poetry_) of the gallant troubadour Geoffrey Rudel, who died for
love--and love, too, from hearsay description of the beauty of the
Countess of Tripoli.

* * * * *

On the 14th Night the Parrot entertains the Lady with a very curious
account of

_The Discovery of Music._

Some attribute, says the learned and eloquent feathered sage (according
to Gerrans), the discovery to the sounds made by a large stone against
the frame of an oil-press; and others to the noise of meat when
roasting; but the sages of Hind [India] are of opinion that it
originated from the following accident: As a learned Brahman was
travelling to the court of an illustrious raja he rested about the
middle of the day under the shade of a mulberry tree, on the top of
which he beheld a mischievous monkey climbing from bough to bough, till,
by a sudden slip, he fell upon a sharp-pointed shoot, which instantly
ripped up his belly and left his entrails suspended in the tree, while
the unlucky animal fell, breathless, on the dust of death. Some time
after this, as the Brahman was returning, he accidentally sat down in
the same place, and, recollecting the circumstance, looked up, and saw
that the entrails were dried, and yielded a harmonious sound every time
the wind gently impelled them against the branches. Charmed at the
singularity of the adventure, he took them down, and after binding them
to the two ends of his walking-stick, touched them with a small twig, by
which he discove