"'Not as I will!' the sound grows sweet
Each time the words my lips repeat;
'Not as I will!' the darkness feel
More safe than light, when this thought steals
Like whispered voice, to calm and bless
All unrest and all loneliness.
'Not as I will!' because the One
Who loved us first and best has gone
Before us on the road, and still
For us must all His love fulfill
'Not as we will!'"
--H. H. JACKSON.
It is a joyous, happy picture that is unveiled to the reader now.
Golden peace reigns in the country and dwells in every heart.
Sibylla, the rosy house-wife, with beaming eyes, sits by the cradle
of her year-old baby. She sleeps so sweetly; she lies there so
lovely in her unconscious beauty, that the happy mother can not take
her eyes away. Once she had wavered in the decision as to which of
her two ideals was supreme, the Apollo Belvedere or the Venus de
Medici. Now she has known for a long time that her little Ingeborg
is far more beautiful than both pieces of sculpture put together.
"How can any one be so foolish?" she thinks, and again bends over the
sleeping child, whose rest has something sacred in it. Steps
approached. One would never have believed Wulf could walk so
lightly; but he has accustomed himself to it "for baby's sake."
"Why, Wulf! I thought you were at the concert," said Sibylla,
somewhat reproachfully. "How can you miss that splendid oratorio?"
Wulf has become woefully embarrassed.
"Wulf, Wulf! I fear you did not even have the intention to go."
"Well, well; never mind," Wulf plucked up courage to reply. "I would
rather hear Ingeborg's 'um, um;' it sounds more beautiful to me than
all this scientific musical structure."
"O, you never had much understanding for art," lamented Sibylla,
roguishly.
"But a great mind for taste and beauty," interrupted Wulf, embracing
his wife warmly. "I have always been able to distinguish between the
beautiful and the ugly!"
Sibylla shakes her finger, and adroitly changes the conversation.
"You know we are to have a visit this evening from the Kahrings and
Theodora. Are you too tired to see them?"
"No, I am not tired, although my day's work has been a serious one,
with many experiences."
Wulf was silent.
Sibylla approached him with questioning eyes, and he continued:
"O Sibylla, there is so much misery in the world! If I were only a
physician who could make every body well--well, above all things,
spiritually."
Ingeborg now awakened. Sibylla lifted her, and placed her in her
husband's arms.
"There now, Wulf, you are at home, and must not have gloomy thoughts.
Ingeborg, where is papa?"
The child knew him, and reached her little arms to embrace him; and
when Wulf, with one arm encircling the mother and the other holding
his baby, presses them to his heart, his eyes reflect the evidence
that in these four walls he is the happiest man in the world.
Just then Theodora enters. She belongs here, and feels perfectly at
home with the Ericksens. She is cordially greeted. Even little
Ingeborg seems to recognize her, for she claps her pretty hands so
eagerly as if she would perform her little exercise.
"Now the worker will appear in her most beautiful character,"
exclaims Wulf, laughing. "See, Theodora; even Ingeborg can not
escape your influence. As soon as she sees you she begins her
'_Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's man!_'"
"She does not degenerate," replies Theodora, smilingly, at the same
time handing Wulf a small piece of paper.
"Six, seven, eight only," says Wulf, cheerily. "Theodora, the
condition of health among the poor is now very good. To-morrow,
early, I shall visit them all. But how is it with old Weber? Still
no change?"
"No, only he wants to see you very much. He thinks when you visit
him sunshine enters his room."
Sibylla is silent; but she thinks how wonderful it is that she and
old Weber are of the same mind.
"Theodora," she says, "I am ashamed of myself whenever I see you, to
think how much you do."
"Very little," replies Theodora; "but there must be a change; there
is so much work in the world. I have to-day, for the first time,
realized that I have never really labored with might and main--never
made one real sacrifice."
"Our outward life," interposes Wulf, earnestly, "never corresponds to
the demands of the inner life. Willing and doing are not completely
equalized, alas!"
In the evening we are with a small circle of the Ericksens' friends
in their cozy room. The table is simply spread, with every thing
necessary for an inviting supper. The tea-kettle sings a welcome,
and Sibylla does not permit it to do all the pleasant service. The
conversation is lively and bright, while deeper interests are not
forgotten. One receives in giving, and receiving one gives again.
All are unanimous in the belief that the hand must help the arm; all
know that personal, loving diligence alone can ripen the seed of the
word, the fruit of the deed.
"You always have such underground inclinations," says Arnold Von
Kahring, who has resided at Berlin during the past year, in comic
provocation to Wulf. "As a boy you searched after the moles in their
cellars, and now you are after the poor just the same. At that time
you killed your objects of love, now you raise them to life; that is
the only difference."
"Yes, Arnold," interjects Theodora, laughing, "and he also had a
habit in those days of rescuing people; for example, when he pulled
you out of the water."
"That is true," responded Arnold. Thereupon he relates the story of
that unhappy casualty. "And it is my misfortune," he adds, jocosely,
"that I must be grateful now, and he presses me into all kinds of
service. It is terrible! I am, for instance, already guardian for
over one hundred and sixty-four children!"
"Don't go over a bridge this evening, dear," says Arnold's wife, in
playful warning; "you will break a bone!"
"I know a person," adds Sibylla, "who spent an hour with me
yesterday, and said to me that I should not regret my husband's
undertaking so much charitable work outside of his practice, and this
very person begged to be permitted to share such service."
"That is just the worst part of it," retorts Arnold. "That kind of
men," pointing to Wulf. "can make us do any thing; for one must keep
in the good graces of the doctor. One may get sick himself, you
know, and--"
"Then he forbids him to talk," interrupts Wulf. "But just here while
the conversation turns upon it and we are all together, let me
heartily thank you, Arnold, for all your faithful assistance. There
are not many men who have given their heart and time so wholly to
this personal labor of love."
All are earnest, and for a moment there is silence.
"When shall we all, husbands and wives," said one present, "become
conscious that we have, in and through our respective callings,
higher duties to fulfill? No calling is so unprepossessing and poor
that it may not be illuminated with heavenly luster through love and
service; no calling so great and rich that humble endeavors to do
good can not intensify its glory."
"Not all men and women," replied Arnold Von Kahring; "can do equally.
Many have household cares and business duties which deter them from
outside work; but still they can fulfill higher interests in a
measure, and reap rich blessings."
"And perhaps many," added Wulf, "who have no especial life-work, if
they could be shown avenues of service, would gladly embrace them,
and learn for the first time what it is to have a noble aim and true
happiness."
"I must testify," said Arnold's wife, "that in my experience time and
strength follow the real desire to work."
"Yes; 'where there's a will, there's a way,'" concluded Theodora,
impressively.
We now take leave of our friends. They have earnest desires, and
will therefore find the right way.
Theodora lives with her brother. A cheerful, sunny room is her home;
and although she is not entirely alone, she has perfect liberty. She
wears no deaconess's dress, and yet she is one--a true helper.
A pleasant smile illumines her face this evening. She is thinking of
Sibylla, whom she loves as dearly as though she were her own child.
"She was always better than her word," she says, softly. "I know
that, among all of us who spoke this evening, she will do most."
Theodora is happy, for she forgets self.
Albertina Von Kahring says to her husband: "What a beautiful home the
Ericksens' is! I always feel there that outward good--call it riches
if you will, be they great as they may--can not alone give true
happiness, and that love, joy, and peace proceed from a very
different source."
"The worst of it is,"' says Arnold, "that the spirit of the house is
contagious. Contagion! that is the last thing we should desire to
take from a physician's house!"
His tones were in comic severity, but his wife's glance interpreted
their meaning.
Upon the balcony of their dwelling Wulf and Sibylla are sitting later
in the evening. His arm embraces her, and she leans her head on his
breast. They are silent. But whoever looks into their eyes may read
therein: "We are in the haven. Many misfortunes may yet befall us,
but we are happy and nothing can wrest this happiness from us."