“Just think, last summer my dear girls sent me a suit of fine city clothes and money to go a journey, begging their old father to make them a visit.  Oh, how pretty they looked when they showed me round the city in spite of my homespun, for I couldn’t bring myself to wear the fine clothes, after all.  The best dressed one was our little lady’s-maid, who had a gold watch in her belt.  So I said:  ’Listen, child, that is not fit for you.’  But she only laughed.  ’Indeed it is, little father.  If my gracious lady makes me a present, I’m not likely to be mistaken for her on that account.’—­’And girls, are you contented to be in service?’—­’Certainly, father:  unless there are both masters and servants the world would go out of its grooves.  My good Countess makes service so light, that we love and serve her.  Yes, little father,’ added Miez, ’my gracious mistress chose Gustav for me, and is going to pay for the wedding and start us in housekeeping—­God bless her!’ Now see what good such a woman does.  If people would but learn that it takes wits to command as well as to obey, they would get along well enough in these new times of equality.  Thank heaven! we country folk shan’t be ruined by idleness.  When I saw my thatched roof again, among the fir-trees, I felt as solemn as if I were going to prayers.  The blue smoke looked like incense.  I folded my hands, I thanked God.”

Little brother arose, his eyes bright with tears.  He cast a wistful look toward the apples in the chimney:  “My old wife, little sister?”—­ “Certainly, take them all, little brother, you are heartily welcome to them.”—­“We are like children, my wife and I, we carry tidbits to each other, now that our birds have all flown away.”—­“That is right, old boy, and God keep thee!” I said.  From the threshold the words echoed back, “God keep thee!”

Translation of Miss H. Geist.

STRUGGLE AND PEACE

A quarter-century warfare woke
No sabre clash nor powder smoke,
No triumph song nor battle cry;
Their shields no templared knights stood by.

Though fought were many battles hot,
Of any fight the world knew not
How great the perils often grew—­

        God only knew.

Within my deepest soul-depths torn,
In hands and feet wounds bleeding borne,
Trodden beneath the chargers’ tread,
How I endured, felt, suffered, bled,
How wept and groaned I in my woe,
When scoffed the malice-breathing foe,
How pierced his scorn my spirit through,

        God only knew.

The evening nears; cool zephyrs blow;
The struggle wild doth weaker grow;
The air with scarce a sigh is filled
From the pale mouth; the blood is stilled. 
Quieted now my bitter pain;
A faint star lights the heavenly plain;
Peace cometh after want and woe—­

        My God doth know.

DO THOU LOVE, TOO!