them profusely among the courtiers, and soon he had made a host of friends by his liberality. The emperor began now to feel exceedingly uncomfortable. Unable to sleep, he rose early on the third morning and went, with fear in his heart, to the prison to hear what the third wish was to be. "Now," said he to his prisoner, "tell me what your third demand is, that it may be granted at once, and you may be hung out of hand, for I am tired of your demands." "Sire," answered his prisoner, "I have but one more favor to request of your majesty, which, when you have granted, I shall die content. It is merely that you will cause the eyes of those who saw my father turn the fish over to be put out." "Very good," replied the emperor, "your demand is but natural, and springs from a good heart. Let the chamberlain be seized," he continued, turning to his guards. "I, sire!" cried the chamberlain; "I did not see anything--it was the steward." "Let the steward be seized, then," said the king. 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." {33} ------ 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. ------ From The Dublin Review. THE CHRISTIAN SCHOOLS OF ALEXANDRIA. _S. Clementis Alexandrini Opera Omnia_. Lutetiae. 1629.