Strife and Peace | Page 9

he would have been given over to dark
spirits--followed, because right and duty demanded it; because I had
promised it before God--Oh! could I believe that this fidelity had
operated beneficially--that my endeavours had borne any fruit--I should
not then, as now, ask 'why was I born? why have I lived?' But nothing,
nothing!
"Could I think that on the other side of the grave I should meet the
gentle loving look of my only sister--would I gladly die. But what
should I reply to her, if she asked after her child of sorrow? How would
she look upon the unfaithful protectress?
"Oh, my friend! My misfortune has nothing in common with that of
romances, nothing with that of which most the deep shades only serve
to set off the most beautiful lights. It is a wearisome winter twilight;
which only conducts to a deeper night. And am I alone in this condition?
Open the pages of history, look around you in the present day, and you
will see a thousand-fold sufferings, unmerited sufferings, which, after a
long agony lead--to despair. But another, a happier life! Only
consolation, only hope, only true point of light in the darkness of
earthly existence!--no, no! I will not abandon thee! I will trust in thee;
and in this belief will be silenced the murmurings which so often arise
against the Creator of the world.
"I am ill, and do not believe that I shall live over this winter. Breathing
is difficult to me; and perhaps the inexpressible heaviness which
burdens me may contribute to this torment. When I sit up sleepless in
my bed through the long nights, and see the night in myself, behind me
and before me, then dark, horrible phantasies surround me, and I often

think that insanity, with ashy cheeks, stony and rigid gaze, approaches
me, will darken my reason and bewilder my mind. How can I wish to
live? When it is evening, I wish it were morning; and when it is
morning, I wish that the day was over, and that it were again evening.
Every hour is to me a burden and a torment.
"For this cause, my friend, pray God for me that I may soon die!
Farewell! Perhaps I may write no more. But my last clear thought will
be for you. Forgive the impatience, the bitterness, which shows itself in
this letter. Pray for me, my friend and teacher, pray that I may be able
to compose myself, and to pray yet before I die!"

NEW CONTENTIONS.
We're living a peculiar life, With serious words and serious strife.
MUNCH.
Whilst we leave the pale Mrs. Astrid alone with her dark thoughts, we
are led by certain extraordinary discords to look around in
THE BREWHOUSE.
Harald found himself there for the purpose of tasting the new beer
which Susanna had brewed; but before he had swallowed down a good
draught, he said, with a horrible grimace, "It is good for nothing--good
for nothing at all!"
Somewhat excited, Susanna made reply, "Perhaps you will also assert
that Baroness Rosenhjelm's brewing-recipe is good for nothing!"
"That I assert decidedly. Does not she give coffee-parties? And a
coffee-bibber is always a bad housewife; and as Baroness Rosenhjelm
is a coffee-bibber, therefore----"
"I must tell you," interrupted Susanna, vehemently, "that it is
unbecoming and profane of you to talk in this way of such an excellent

lady, and a person of such high rank!"
"High! How high may she be?"
"A deal higher than you are, or ever can be, that I can assure you!"
"Higher than me! then of a certainty she goes on stilts. Now, I must say
that is the very tip-top of gentility and politeness. One may forgive a
lady giving coffee-parties, and decorating and dressing herself up, but
to go on stilts, only on purpose to be higher than other folks, and to be
able to look over their heads, that is coming it strong over us. How can
such a high person ever come down low enough to brew good beer?
But a Swedish woman can never brew good beer, for----"
"She will not brew a single drop for you abominable Norwegians, for
you have neither reason, nor understanding, nor taste, nor----"
Out of the brewhouse flew Susanna, in the highest indignation,
throwing down a glass of beer which Harald had poured out during the
contention for her, but which now would have gone right over if he had
not saved it by a spring.
Towards the evening of the same day we see the contending parties
again met in
THE GARRET.
"Are you yet angry?" asked Harald, jokingly, as he stretched in his
head through the garret-door, where Susanna was sitting upon a
flour-tub, as on a throne, with all the importance