The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 01, No. 05, March, 1858

"Saw ye ever the like o' thae birds, Miss Kathleen?" began Ben, proudly.

"My butter, my butter!" cried Kate.

Ben ran to the rescue, and having removed everything to the high shelf, he came back, saying,—

"It was na their faut. I tak shame for not minding that they are so gay tall. But did ye ever see the like o' yon rooster?"

Indeed, she never had! The frightful monster, with its bob-tail and boa-constrictor neck! But she said nothing.

Ben named them the Emperor and Empress. They were not to be allowed to walk with common fowls, and he soon had a large, airy house made for them. He watched these creatures with incessant devotion, and one morning he was beside himself with delight, for, by a most hideous roaring on the part of the Emperor, and a vigorous cackling, which Ben, very descriptively, called "scraughing," by the Empress, it was announced that she had laid an egg!

Etiquette required Kate to call and admire this promise of royal offspring, and she was surprised into genuine admiration when she saw the prodigy. Her nose had to lower its scornful turn, her lips to relax their skeptical twist. It was an egg indeed! Ben was nobly justified in his purchase. His step was light that day. Kate heard him singing, over and over again, a verse from an old song which he had brought with him from the land o' cakes:—

  "I hae a hen wi' a happity leg,  (Lass, gin ye loe me, tell me noo,)  And ilka day she lays me an egg  (And I canna come ilka day to woo!)"

Wooing any lass would, just now, have been quite as secondary an affair with the singer as in the song,—a something par parenthèse.

But, alas! Ben's face was more dubious the next day, and before the week was over it was yard-long. The Empress, after that one great effort, laid no more eggs, but duly began her second duty, sitting. There was no doubt that she meant to have but one chick,—out of rivalry, perhaps, with the Pynchon hen. It was gratifying, perhaps, to have her so aristocratic, but it was not exactly profitable as a speculation.

"Ben," said Kate, dryly, "I don't know that that egg was wonderfully large, as it contained the whole brood!"

Poor Ben! That was not all. The clumsy, heavy Empress stepped upon her egg, and broke it in the second week of its existence; but, faithful to its memory, she refused to forego the duties of maternity, and would persist in staying on her nest. As the season advanced, Ben lost hope of the second brood he had counted upon. In short, his Empress had the legitimate "hen-fever," and it carried her off, though Ben tried numberless remedies in common use for vulgar fowls, such as pumping upon her, whirling her by one leg, tying red flannel to her tail, and so forth. Of course such indignities were fatal to royalty, and Ben gave up all hopes of a pure race of Shanghais.

The Emperor was then set at liberty, and for one short half-hour strutted like a giant-hero among the astounded hens. But no sooner did the former old cock—who had game blood in him, repute said—return from a distant excursion into the cornfields with his especial favorites about him, and behold the mighty majesty of the monster, than his pride and ire blazed up. He put his head low, ruffled out his long neck-feathers, his eyes winked and snapped fire with rage, he set out his wings, took a short run, and, throwing up his spurs with fury, struck the stupid, staring Emperor a blow under the ear which laid him low. Alas for royalty, opposed to force of will!

"And you had to pocket the loss, Kate?" I said.

"It was my gain," she replied. "Ben had always been dictatorial before; but after that, I had only to smile to remind him of his fallibility, and I have been mistress here ever since."

So far had I written when your welcome letter arrived. Kate found me this morning sighing over it, pen in hand, ready to reply. She put on her imperious look, and said she forbade my writing, if I grew gloomy over it. She feared my letters were only the outpourings of a disappointed spirit. Indulgence in grief she considered weak, foolish, unprincipled, and egotistical.

"I can't help being egotistical," I replied, "when I see no one, and am shut up in the 'little world of me,' as closely as mouse in trap. And with myself for a subject, what can my letters be but melancholy?"

"Anybody can write amusing letters, if they choose," said Kate, reckless both of fact and grammar.

"Unless I make fun of you, what else have I to laugh at?"

"Well, do! Make fun of me to your heart's content! Who cares?"

"You promise to laugh with us, and not be offended?"

"I promise not to be offended. My laughing depends upon your wit."

"There is no mirth left in me, Kate. I am convinced that I ought to say with Jacques, ''Tis good to be sad, and say nothing.'"

"Then I shall answer as Rosalind did,—'Why, then, 'tis good to be a post!' No, no, Charlie, do be merry. Or if you cannot, just now, at least encourage 'a most humorous sadness,' and that will he the first step to real mirth."

"I shall never be merry again, Lina, till you let me recall Mr. –.

That care weighs me down, and I truly believe retards my recovery."

"Hush, Charlie!" she said, imperiously.

"Now, dear Kate, do not be obstinate. My position is too cruel. With the alleviation of knowing your happiness secure, I could bear my lot. But now it is intolerable, utterly!"

She was silent.

"You must give me that consolation."

"To say I would ever leave you, Charlie, while you are so helpless, would be to tell a lie, for I could not do it. Mr. – is a civil engineer. He is always travelling about. I should have no settled home to take you to. How can you suppose I would abandon you? Do you think I could find any happiness after doing it? Let us be silent about this."

"I will not, Kate. I am sure, that, besides being a selfish, it would be a foolish thing to submit to you in this matter. I shall linger, perhaps, until your youth is gone, and then have the pang, far worse than any other I could suffer, of leaving you quite alone in the world. Do listen to reason!"

She sat thinking. At last she said, "Well, wait one year."

"That would be nonsensical procrastination. Does not the doctor declare that a year will not better my condition?"

"But he cannot be sure. And I promise you, Charlie, that, if Mr. – asks me then, I will think about it,—and if you are better, go with him. More I will not promise."

"A year from last February, you mean?"—A pause.

"Encroacher! Yes, then."

"And you will write to him to say so?"

"Indeed! That would be pretty behavior!"

"But as you rejected him decidedly, he may form new"–She clapped her hand upon my mouth.

"Dare to say it!" she cried.

I removed her hand, and said, eagerly, "Now, Kate, do not trifle. I must have some certainty that I am not wrecking your happiness. I cannot wait a year in suspense. I am a man. I have not the patience of your incomprehensible sex."

"I have more than patience to support me, Charlie," she whispered. "He insisted upon refusing to take a positive answer then, and said he should return again next spring, to see if I were in the same mind. So be at ease!"

I sighed, unsatisfied.

"I am sure he will come," she said, turning quite away, that I might not dwell upon her warm blush.

"There is Ben with the horse. Are you ready?" she asked, glad to change the subject.

I was always ready for that I had enjoyed the "jaunting-car-r-r" so much, that my sister, resolved to gratify me further, had made comfortable arrangements for longer excursions. I found that I could sit up, if well supported by pillows; and so Kate had her "cabriolet" brought out and repaired.

She had not the least idea of what a cabriolet might be, when she named her vehicle so; but it sounded fine and foreign, and was a sort of witty contrast to the misshapen affair it represented. It was indescribable in form, but had qualities which recommended it to me. It was low, wide-seated, high-backed, broad, and long. The front wheels turned under, which was a lucky circumstance, as Kate was to be driver. Ben could not be spared from his work, and I was out of the question.

We have a horse to match this unique affair, called "Old Soldier,"—an excellent name for him; though, if Kate reads this remark, she will take mortal offence at it. She calls the venerable fellow her charger, because he makes such bold charges at the steep hills,—the only occasions upon which the cunning beast ever exerts himself in the least, well knowing that he will be instantly reined in. Kate has a horror of going out of a walk, on either ascent or descent, because "up-hill is such hard pulling, and down-hill so dangerous!"

Old Soldier can discern a grade of five feet to the mile of either. If I did not know his history, (an old omnibus horse,) I should say he must have practised surveying for years. He accommodates himself most obligingly to his mistress's whims, and walks carefully most of the time, except when he is ambitious of great praise at little cost, when he makes the charges aforesaid.

"He is so considerate, usually!" Kate says; "he knows we don't like tearing up and down hills; but now and then his spirit runs away with him!"—I wish it would some day with us. No hope of it!

We stop every two miles to water the horse, and though we are exceedingly moderate in our donations, we are a fortune to the hostlers. I carry the purse, as Kate is quite occupied in holding the reins, and keeping a sharp look-out that her charger don't run off. Not that he ever showed a disposition that way,—being generally quite agreeable, if we wish him to stand ever so long a time; but Kate says he is very nervous, and he might be startled, and then we might find it impossible to stop him,—a thing easy enough hitherto.

I am obliged to keep the purse in my hand all the time, there being such frequent use for it. Kate says,—

"Give the man a half-dime, Charlie, if you can find one. A three-cent piece looks mean, you know; and a fip mounts up so, it is rather extravagant. That is the twelfth fip that man has had this week, and for only holding up a bucket a half-minute at a time; for Soldier only takes one swallow."

She will pay every time we stop, if it is six times a day.

"Shall I give the man a half-dollar at once," I ask, "and let that do for a week?"

"No, indeed! How mean I should feel, sneaking off without paying!"

When the roadside shows a patch of tender grass, Kate eyes it, and checks Soldier's pace. He knows what that means, and edges toward the tempting herbage.

"Poor fellow!" his driver says,—"it is like our having to pass a plate of peaches. Let him have a bite."

And so we wait while he grazes awhile. It is the same thing when we cross a brook, and Soldier pauses in it to cool his feet and look at his reflection in the water.

"Perhaps he wants a drink. We won't hurry him. We will let him see that we can afford to wait."

If he had not come to that conclusion from the very start, he must have believed human beings were miracles of patience and forbearance.

I could write a fine dissertation upon Kate's foolish fondness and her blind indulgence. I could show that these are the great failings of her sex, and prove how very much more rational my sex would be in like circumstances. But I find it too pleasant to be the recipient of such favors myself just now, to find fault. Wait until I do not need woman's tenderness, and then I'll abuse it famously. I will say then, that she is weak, foolish, imprudent; I will say, she kills with kindness, spoils with indulgence, and all that; but just now I will say nothing.

In one thing I think her kindness very sensible,—she uses no check-rein. I think with Sir Francis Head, that all horses are handsomer with their heads held as Nature pleases. I pity the poor creatures when I see them turning to one side and the other, to find a little relief in change of position. To restrain horses thus, who have heavy loads to pull, is the height of folly, as a waste of power.

You take no interest in these remarks, perhaps; but treasure them. If ever, Cousin Mary, you drive a dray, they will serve you.

[To be continued.]* * * * *

THY PSYCHE

  Like a strain of wondrous music rising up in cloister dim,  Through my life's unwritten measures thou dost steal, a glorious       hymn!  All the joys of earth and heaven in the singing meet, and flow  Richer, sweeter, for the wailing of an undertone of woe.  How I linger, how I listen for each mellow note that falls,  Clear as chime of angels floating downward o'er the jasper walls!  Every night, when winds are moaning round my chamber by the sea,  Thine's the face that through the darkness latest looks with love at       me;  And I dream, ere thou departest, thou dost press thy lips to mine;—  Then I sleep as slept the Immortals after draughts of Hebe's wine!  And I clasp thee, out of slumber when the rosy day is born,  As the soul, with rapture waking, clasps the resurrection morn.  'Twas thy soul-wife, 'twas thy Psyche, one uplifted, radiant day,  Thou didst call me;—how divinely on thy brow Love's glory lay!  Thou my Cupid,—not the boy-god whom the Thespians did adore,  But the man, so large, so noble, truer god than Venus bore.  I thy Psyche;—yet what blackness in this thread of gold is wove!  Thou canst never, never lead me, proud, before the throne of Jove!  All the gods might toil to help thee through the longest summer       day;—  Still would watch the fatal Sisters, spinning in the twilight gray;  And their calm and silent faces, changeless looking through the       gloom,  From eternity, would answer, "Thou canst ne'er escape thy doom!"  Couldst thou clasp me, couldst thou claim me, 'neath the soft       Elysian skies,  Then what music and what odor through their azure depths would rise!  Roses all the Hours would scatter, every god would bring us joy,  So, in perfect loving blended, bliss would never know alloy!  O my heart! the vision changes; fades the soft celestial blue;  Dies away the rapturous music, thrilling all my pulses through!  Lone I sit within my chamber; storms are beating 'gainst the pane,  And my tears are falling faster than the chill December rain;—  Yet, though I am doomed to linger, joyless, on this earthly shore,  Thou art Cupid!—I am Psyche!—we are wedded evermore!

DR. WICHERN AND HIS PUPILS

"Would you like to spend a day at Horn and visit the Rauhe Haus?" inquired my friend, Herr X., of me, one evening, as we sat on the bank of the Inner Alster, in the city of Hamburg. I had already visited most of the "lions" in and about Hamburg, and had found in Herr X. a most intelligent and obliging cicerone. So I said, "Yes," without hesitation, though knowing little more of the Rauhe Haus than that it was a reform school of some kind.

"I will call for you in the morning," said my friend, as we parted for the night.

The morning was clear and bright, and I had hardly despatched my breakfast when Herr X. appeared with his carriage. Entering it without delay, we were driven swiftly over the pavements, till we came to the old city-wall, now forming a fine drive, when my friend, turning to the coachman, said,—

"Go more slowly."

"The scenery in this vicinity we Hamburgers think very beautiful," he continued, turning to me.

To my eye, accustomed to our New England hills, it was much too flat to merit the appellation of beautiful, though Art had done what it could to improve upon Nature; so I assented to his encomiums upon the landscape, but, desirous of changing the subject, added,—

"This Rauhe Haus, where we are going, I know but little of; will you give me its history?"

"Most willingly," he replied. "You must know that our immense commerce, while it affords ample occupation for the enterprising and industrious, draws hither also a large proportion of the idle, depraved, and vicious. For many years, it was one of the most difficult questions with which our Senate has had to grapple, to determine what should be done with the hordes of vagrant children who swarmed about our quays, and were harbored in the filthy dens which before the great fire of 1842 were so abundant in the narrow streets. These children were ready for crime of every description, and in audacity and hardihood far surpassed older vagabonds.

"In 1830, Dr. Wichern, then a young man of twenty-two, having completed his theological studies at Göttingen and Berlin, returned home, and began to devote himself to the religious instruction of the poor. He established Sabbath-schools for these children, visited their parents at their homes, and sought to bring them under better influences. He succeeded in collecting some three or four hundred of them in his Sabbath-schools; but he soon became convinced that they must be removed from the evil influences to which they were subjected, before any improvement could be hoped for in their morals. In 1832, he proposed to a few friends, who had become interested in his labors, the establishment of a House of Rescue for them. The suggestion met their approval; but whence the means for founding such an institution were to come none of them knew; their own resources were exceedingly limited, and they had no wealthy friends to assist them.

"About this time, a gentleman with whom he was but slightly acquainted brought him three hundred dollars, desiring that it should be expended in aid of some new charitable institution. Soon after, a legacy of $17,500 was left for founding a House of Rescue. Thus encouraged, Wichern and his friends went forward. A cottage, roughly built and thatched with straw, with a few acres of land, was for sale at Horn, about four miles from the city, and its situation pleasing them, they appropriated their legacy to the purchase of it. Hither, in November, 1833, Dr. Wichern removed with his mother, and took into his household, adopting them as his own children, three of the worst boys he could find in Hamburg. In the course of a few months he had increased the number to twelve, all selected from the most degraded children of the city.

"His plan was the result of careful and mature deliberation. He saw that these depraved and vicious children had never been brought under the influence of a well-ordered family, and believing, that, in the organization of the family, God had intended it as the best and most efficient institution for training children in the ways of morality and purity, he proposed to follow the Divine example. The children were employed, at first, in improving the grounds, which had hitherto been left without much care; the banks of a little stream, which flowed past the cottage, were planted with trees; a fish-pond into which it discharged its waters was transformed into a pretty sylvan lake; and the barren and unproductive soil, by judicious cultivation, was brought into a fertile condition.

"In 1834, the numerous applications he received, and the desire of extending the usefulness of the institution, led him to erect another building for the accommodation of a second family of boys. The work upon it was almost wholly performed by his first pupils. I should have remarked, that, during the first year, a high fence, which surrounded the premises when they were purchased, was removed by the boys, by Dr. Wichern's direction, as he desired to have love the only bond by which to retain them in his family. When the new house was finished and dedicated, the original family moved into it, and were placed under the charge of two young men from Switzerland, named Baumgärtner and Byckmeyer.

"Workshops for the employment of the boys soon became necessary, and means were contributed for their erection. New pupils were offered, either by their parents, or by the city authorities, and new families were organized. These required more "house-fathers," as they were called, and for their training a separate house was needed. Dr. Wichern has been very successful in obtaining assistants of the right description. They are young men of good education, generally versed in some mechanical employment, and whose zeal for philanthropic effort leads them to place themselves under training here, for three or four years, without salary. They are greatly in demand all over Germany for home missionaries and superintendents of prisons and reformatory institutions. You have heard, I presume, of the Inner Mission?"

I assented, and he continued.

"These young men are its most active promoters. The philanthropy of Wichern was not satisfied, until he had established also several families of vagrant girls at his Rough House.—But see, we are approaching our destination. This is the Rauhe Haus."

As he spoke, our carriage stopped. We alighted, and rarely has my eye been greeted by a pleasanter scene. The grounds, comprising about thirty-two acres, presented the appearance of a large landscape-garden. The variety of choice forest-trees was very great, and mingled with them were an abundance of fruit-trees, now laden with their golden treasures, and a profusion of flowers of all hues. Two small lakes, whose borders were fringed with the willow, the weeping-elm, and the alder, glittered in the sunlight,—their finny inhabitants occasionally leaping in the air, in joyous sport. Fourteen buildings were scattered over the demesne,—one, by its spire, seeming to be devoted to purposes of worship.

"Let us go to the Mutter-Haus," (Mother-House,) said my friend; "we shall probably find Dr. Wichern there."

So saying, he led the way to a plain, neat building, situated nearly centrally, though in the anterior portion of the grounds. This is Dr. Wichern's private residence, and here he receives reports from the Brothers, as the assistants are called, and gives advice to the pupils. We were ushered into the superintendent's office, and found him a fine, noble-looking man, with a clear, mild eye, and an expression of great decision and energy. My friend introduced me, and Dr. Wichern welcomed us both with great cordiality.

"Be seated for a moment, gentlemen," said he; "I am just finishing the proofs of our Fliegenle Blätter," (Flying Leaves, a periodical published at the Rauhe Haus,) "and will presently show you through our buildings."

We waited accordingly, interesting ourselves, meanwhile, with the portraits of benefactors of the institution which decorated the walls.

In a few minutes Dr. Wichern rose, and merely saying, "I am at your service, gentlemen," led the way to the original Rough House. It is situated in the southeastern corner of the grounds, and is overshadowed by one of the noblest chestnut-trees I have ever seen. The building is old and very humble in appearance, but of considerable size. In addition to accommodations for the House-Father and his family of twelve boys, several of the Brothers of the Mission reside here, and there are also rooms for a probationary department for new pupils.

"Here," said the Doctor, "we began the experiment whose results you see around you. When, with my mother and sister and three of the worst boys to be found in Hamburg, I removed to this house in 1833, there was need of strong faith to foresee the results which God has wrought since that day."

"What were the means you found most successful in bringing these turbulent and intractable spirits into subjection?" I inquired.

"Love, the affection of a parent for his children," was his reply. "These wild, hardened boys were inaccessible to any emotion of fear; they had never been treated with kindness or tenderness; and when they found that there was no opportunity for the exercise of the defiant spirit they had summoned to their aid, when they were told that all the past of their lives was to be forgotten and never brought up against them, and that here, away from temptation, they might enter upon a new life, their sullen and intractable natures yielded, and they became almost immediately docile and amiable."

"But," I asked, "is there not danger, that, when removed from these comfortable homes, and subjected again to the iron gripe of poverty, they will resume their old habits?"

"None of us know," replied Dr. Wichern, solemnly, "what we may be left to do in the hour of temptation; but the danger is, nevertheless, not so great as you think. Our children are fed and clothed like other peasant children; they are not encouraged to hope for distinction, or an elevated position in society; they are taught that poverty is not in itself an evil, but, if borne in the right spirit, may be a blessing. Our instruction is adapted to the same end; we do not instruct them in studies above their rank in life; reading, writing, the elementary principles of arithmetic, geography, some of the natural sciences, and music, comprise the course of study. In the calling they select, we do what we can to make them intelligent and competent. Our boys are much sought for as apprentices by the farmers and artisans of the vicinity."