THERE once lived in Egypt a confectioner, who had a very beautiful wife, and a parrot* that performed, as occasion required, the office of watchman, guard, policeman, bell, or spy, and flapped his wings did he but hear a fly buzzing about the sugar. This parrot was a great annoyance to the wife, always telling the suspicious husband what took place in his absence. One evening, before going out to visit a friend, the confectioner gave the parrot strict injunctions to watch all night, and desired his wife to make all fast, as he should not return till morning. No sooner had he left, than the woman went for her old lover, who returned with her, and they passed the night together in mirth and feasting, while the parrot observed all. In the morning the lover departed, and the husband, returning, was informed by the parrot of what had taken place; upon which he hastened to his wife's apartment, and beat her soundly. She thought to herself, who could have informed against her, and asked a woman who was in her confidence whether it was she. The woman protested, “by what is hidden and what is open,”* that she had not betrayed her; but informed her that in the morning, upon his return, the husband stood some time before the cage, and listened to the talking of the parrot. When the wife heard this, she resolved to plot the destruction of the bird.

Some days after, the husband was again invited to the house of a friend, where he was to pass the night. Before departing, he gave the parrot the same injunc­tions as before. His heart was free from care, for he had his spy at home. The wife and her confidante then planned how they might destroy the credit of the parrot with its master. For this purpose, they resolved to counterfeit a storm, which they effected by means of a hand-mill, placed over the parrot's head, which the lover worked, by a rush of water, by blowing a bellows, and by suddenly uncovering a taper hid under a dish. Thus did they raise such a tempest of rain and lightning, that the parrot was drenched and im­mersed in a deluge. Now rolled the thunder—now flashed the lightning—the one from the noise of the hand-mill, the other from the reflection of the taper. “Surely,” thought the parrot to itself, “the deluge has come on, and such a one as perhaps Noah never witnessed.” So saying, he buried his head under his wing, a prey to terror. The husband, on his return, hastened to the parrot, to inquire what had happened during his absence. The bird replied, that he found it impossible to convey an idea of the deluge and tempest of last night; that it would take years to describe the uproar of the hurricane and storm. When the shopkeeper heard the parrot talk of last night's deluge, he said: “Surely, O bird, you are gone mad. Where was there—even in a dream—rain or lightning last night? You have utterly ruined my house and ancient family. My wife is the most virtuous woman of the age, and all your accusations of her are false.” In anger, he dashed the cage upon the ground, tore off the parrot's head, and threw it from the window. Presently, his friend, coming to call upon him, saw the parrot in this condition, with head torn off, and without wings or plumage. Being informed of the circumstances, he suspected some trick on the part of the wife, and said to the husband: “When your wife leaves home to go to the bath, compel her confidante to disclose the secret.” As soon, therefore, as his wife went out, the husband entered his harem, and insisted on the woman telling him the truth. She detailed the whole story, and the husband now bitterly repented having killed the parrot, of whose innocence he had proof.*

“I will now,” continued the vazīr, “relate to your Majesty a still pleasanter tale to the same purpose, illustrating the craft of women.” The king expressed a wish to hear it, and the vazīr proceeded: