Atlantic Monthly, Vol. 1, No. 5, March, 1858 by Various

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Kate doubted, but handed over the money. The next day she was awaked
from a nap on the parlor sofa by a most unearthly music. There was one
bar of four notes, first and third accepted; bar second, a _crescendo_
on a long swelled note, then a _decrescendo_ equally long.

"Why," she cried, "is that our little bull-calf practising singing? I
shall let Barnum know about him. He'll make my fortune!"

Ben knocked at the door, presented a radiant grin, and invited
inspection of his Shanghais. Kate went with him to the cellar. There
stood two feathered bipeds on their tip-toes, with their giraffe necks
stretched up to my sister's swinging shelf where the cream and butter
were kept. It spoke well for the size of their craws certainly, that,
during the two minutes Ben was away, they had each devoured a "print" of
butter, about half a pound!

"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 parenthese_.

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 Goettingen 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 Baumgaertner 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 Blaetter_," (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?"

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