now took another sheet, and wrote the following lines:--
To this lot assigned,
This joy once possessed,
Say, can one so blessed
On earth be sad?
To cool my heart's fire,
By answering love,
To feel the desire,
Man's brother to prove;
Firm in purity,
By beauty inspired,
Ere of life weary
By death required;
The great mystery
Vaguely believing,
Germs of truth in the
Soul's depths perceiving,
Truth-germs unfolding
In the light given,
Joyfully holding
The rain from heaven,
A spark of divine fire
Into the heart hurled,
Kindles with pure desire
A child of the world.
To this lot assigned,
This joy once possessed,
Say, can one so blessed
On earth be sad?
Yet hours may come when the spirit will fail,
Petty cares, like a swarm of flies, assail;
Midst the current of life, with gasping breath,
Waiting I stand, for the summons of death.
Doubting, I question if earth is to me
So grand, so blissful a reality;
Outweighing all the burdens of my life,
My aimless days of fruitless toil and strife.
Sternly denied the brightest joys of earth,
My homely toil no laurel-wreath is worth;
If, wearied of the slowly passing time,
A child should break the clock, would'st call it crime?
O death!--but hark! now a bright footstep nears,
Bright eyes are sparkling, and a glad voice cheers;
My sinking spirit, roused from inward strife,
No longer asketh--Shall I live this life?
He sat still for some time with a smile on his lips, then his face grew graver and he sighed, as if to relieve his oppressed heart and to shake off some thought that troubled him. On the paper that lay upon his knees his pencil sketched a profile, which was unmistakably Edwin's. The thoughts that occupied his mind seemed again to crave utterance in words, but just at that moment he heard some one come up stairs with a familiar, heavy tread. A slight shade of annoyance flitted across his brow, he hastily thrust the portfolio back into the drawer, carefully locked it, and then resumed his work at the turning-lathe, but the visitor who now entered with a melancholy "Good evening, Balder," beheld a friendly face, in which there was no sign of the youth's unwillingness to be disturbed in his solitary intercourse with the muses.
CHAPTER X.
The new comer was a singular-looking person of middle height, clad in coarse but neat clothes, who looked like a workman just returning from his labor. The insignificant form was surmounted by a compact head, adorned with thick shining black hair and beard, which seemed to harmonize with the body as little as the large hands and feet. Yet the homely pale face was rendered attractive by its expression of innocent, almost childlike simplicity, and if the melancholy man, which seldom happened, opened his thick red lips in a smile, fine white teeth glittered through the coal-black whiskers, and the eyes under the heavy brows could beam with a glance at once so soft and so fiery that it might well win a maiden's heart.
Such was the expression with which, when he met Balder and when no cloud darkened his honest mind, he used to gaze at the youth, for whom he cherished a really enthusiastic, almost sentimental tenderness. He never expressed it in words, of which he was usually very sparing, but even to the most superficial observer it was touching to see what power the youth's warm, sunny nature exerted over his rough, bushy-haired companion, so many years his senior. It was a real "secret love," which year by year had increased in strength and enthusiastic ardor, and which would have found no test too severe. All the grace and harmonious charms of life that had been denied to himself, he loved in this beautiful, noble young friend, and in so doing had almost become a little faithless to the other brother, who possessed older claims to his friendship.
As Edwin was carrying his portfolio to school for the first time, a slender timid little fellow, who was going the same way and belonged to the same class, joined him. He was the seventh son of a surgeon, Franzelius by name, who lived in the neighborhood; he could with difficulty support his family, and yet his principal ambition was to send them all to college. By means of free instruction, gratuitous board and stipends, this was at last accomplished, and toward it Edwin's parents had done their part, by supplying Reinhold, the youngest, their son's daily companion, with his dinner. But even Edwin's patient efforts to thaw his shy schoolmate, were not entirely successful. The wretched life which was lived in his parent's home seemed to oppress his heart more and more, when he returned from the table of kind people in easy circumstances, to a house where it was necessary to count the outgoing of every penny. At a very early age he began to reflect upon the difference in the division of worldly goods, though without bitterness, for he neither conceived nor cherished any unattainable desires. It was rather his parents' anxious fears that constantly made him ponder over the mystery; how had these great discrepancies arisen, how they might perhaps be remedied, until good-natured and unselfish as he was, he would, even as a boy, fly into the most violent passion at the bare mention of his fixed idea. When, in studying Roman history, he came upon the Agrarian laws and the times of the Gracchi, he composed an essay, in which with boyish impetuosity he defended the most revolutionary opinions, gaining for himself the nickname of "Franzelius Gracchus," which clung to him as long as he remained at school.
Then the fate that befell the brothers dissolved the school friendship, until many years after, Edwin met this half-forgotten comrade in Berlin. In outward appearance he had changed very much. The thin, shy boy, had become a sturdy, black-bearded, defiant youth, a person whom all well-bred and well-dressed people would avoid in the street, especially in winter, when a coarse red shawl, which he wore twisted around his neck, contributed not a
