But the steward protested with tears in his eyes that he had not witnessed anything of what had been reported, and said it was the butler. The butler declared that he had seen nothing of the matter, and that it must have been one of the valets. But they protested that they were utterly ignorant of what had been charged against the count; in short, it turned out that nobody could be found who had seen the count commit the offence, upon which the princess said:
"I appeal to you, my father, as to another Solomon. If nobody saw the offence committed, the count cannot be guilty, and my husband is innocent."
The emperor frowned, and forthwith the courtiers began to murmur; then he smiled, and immediately their visages became radiant.
"Let it be so," said his majesty; "let him live, though I have put many a man to death for a lighter offence than his. But if he is not hung, he is married. Justice has been done."
From The Month.
EX HUMO.
BY BARRY CORNWALL.
Should you dream ever of the days departed—
Of youth and morning, no more to return—
Forget not me, so fond and passionate-hearted;
Quiet at last, reposing
Under the moss and fern.
There, where the fretful lake in stormy weather
Comes circling round the reddening churchyard pines,
Rest, and call back the hours we lost together,
Talking of hope, and soaring
Beyond poor earth's confines.
If, for those heavenly dreams too dimly sighted,
You became false—why, 'tis a story old:
I, overcome by pain, and unrequited,
Faded at last, and slumber
Under the autumn mould.
Farewell, farewell! No longer plighted lovers,
Doomed for a day to sigh for sweet return:
One lives, indeed; one heart the green earth covers—
Quiet at last, reposing
Under the moss and fern.