1830, joined the brethren of the London Society, having learned the Bechuan language, went south-eastward, and formed stations among the Baharutec. The Wesleyans have also stations in the Bechuana country with several Missionaries; and lately two of their number made a long journey to the Baraputsi, who had sent repeated embassies soliciting teachers, and after travelling through a tract of country previously unknown to Europeans, they left with them two native teachers, until some farther arrangement could be made. Thus have we found the course of these Missions, to use the strikingly beautiful simile of Moffat, like an African river, which “rises, swells, then dwindles-is now rapid, then slowly spreads its refreshing waters over a large surface of desert waste,-now disappears, and then rises in another part of its course, in which it resumes a steady flow-affording, at all seasons, permanent fertility to the advantage of those who assemble on its banks, or come within the range of its influence." But we must now pauso a little ere we proceed to survey the progress of the Gospel amid other scenes and nations where the contrast between Christians and Pagans is not less marked, though under different aspects; and, meanwhile, we must not forget to state, that while religion has been making its power known far and wide, in the interior and along the coast of South Africa, the capital of the country has been largely sharing the benefits of the same Sacred Influences, and the inhabitants are growing more and more attached to the cause of Scripture Truth, and the claims of religious patriotism. Our next Month's Survey will embrace the state and prospects of Protestant Missions in India and China. But it is well to pause here that we may gather up and weigh the results of Missionary enterprise among some of the rudest and most degraded tribes of our race, and thus learn to estimate the excellence and importance of the work of Evangelization; for if the Gospel be the means which God has appointed to effect the most beneficent and glorious changes under which human beings can pass, and we have been made the depositaries of that puro and holy Word of Life, which is destined to transform mankind; and if we have access to millions still buried in barbarism and ignorance, for whose case it is the only effective remedy, it becomes us carefully to ponder our Christian obligations. Have we not, then, in the review just taken, found demonstration to the fact, that the Gospel can transform the most forlorn and debased, and make the scattered villages where they dwell the abodes of happiness and peace ? Has it not been proved that no civilizing process was necessary to prepare the natives, however sunk and savage, to receive and value the truths of the Christian Faith? Is there not now a literature where before the use of letters was unknown? a desire for mental improvement, where the grossest ignorance prevailed? a progress in agriculture and handicraft, where life was formerly spent amid idleness and starvation-unless when hazarded in scenes of cruelest warfare? Thus all these temporal blessings are scattered in the train of the Cross, and are the effects of the kindness, instruction, and zeal, which, under the guidance and benediction of Heaven, Missionaries have carried among the darkest places of the earth, and every benefit which Christianity bestows upon any portion of the human raceevery additional conversion of a slave-born Negro, or an outcast Bushman--every advance in the triumph of the Gospel over the darkness and misery of Paganism-sends a new stream to swell the many waters which will, one day, sweep away from the earth every refuge of lies, and spread spiritual gladness and fertility over the renovated world? LITERARY NOTICES. THE CRICKET ON THE HEARTH. By CHARLES DICKENS. London: Bradbury and Evans. THE first thing that strikes any one who takes Mr. Dicken's latest production into his hand, is its elegant exterior, and the beauty and excellence of the illustrations by which it is adorned. Of these embellishments, the matter of "The Cricket on the Hearth" is as unworthy as it is of Mr. Dicken's genius and reputation. The task of being called on annually, about the Christmas time, to favour the world with a Christmas tale, is certainly not well calculated to bring out the vigorous offspring of a writer's unconstrained talents. The plot of "The Cricket on the Hearth" is not entitled to much credit for ingenuity. The Cricket is the good fairy of the piece, for whose intervention, however, there does not appear to be any necessity farther than as affording an opportunity to the writer of indulging in descriptions very highly elaborated but The story opens with an account of John Peerybingle the carrier, arriving at his house on a cold winter night, where he is received by his wife, who gets the name of Dot. Dot is young and beautiful, and represented as warmly attached to John, who is much her senior, being in middle age. The household consists of John and Dot, a baby and an awkward girl, Tilly Slowboy, and the carrier's dog, Boxer-the four-footed member being perhaps the best sketched of the whole company. On the evening described, John has brought along with him an old deaf stranger whom he had picked up on the road, and who obtains lodgings in the carrier's house. Amongst the luggage that night, John has brought home a bride-cake for a marriage which is to take place in a day or two, between a surly elderly gentleman, named Tackleton, whom the novelist teaches us to consider as the essence of every thing that is unfeeling and heartless, and a young blooming girl who is called May, a companion of Dot's from in fancy. Tackleton is the employer of Caleb Plummer, who, with his blind daughter, Bertha, earns a miserable livelihood by making toys. It is the pleasure of Mr. Dickens to feign that Caleb, out of love to his daughter, imposed upon her by representing their circumstances as comfortable, by making her believe that their hovel was an ornamented residence, and that Tackleton, their hardmaster, was a generous friend, who disguised under a rough exterior a heart overflowing with benevolence. We confess that we do not think that this is natural; but the want of nature in character does not seem to be looked on as any defect by the readers of the fictions of the day. We think it unnatural that the father should have attempted such a deception; and unnatural that the daughter should have been thus deceived. This plot, however, such as it is, enables Mr. Dickens to introduce some scenes in the style of pathetic description in which he excells. A pic-nic, at which all the characters in the piece, including also the deaf stranger, are present, is held in Caleb's dwelling; and from this event, the serious part of the tale commences. Tackleton, with wicked offciousness, leads the carrier to a place where he sees his wife, Dot, engaged in earnest conversation with the person who had hitherto been disguised as an old deaf gentleman, but who has now stripped himself of his artificial grey hair, and appears as a young and handsome man. He sees Dot, with his own eyes, assist the stranger to replace his disguise. He has now no doubt that this is a lover who has gained Dot's heart, while he had only got her hand. He walks sullenly home at his horse's head, instead of sitting, as was his custom, in the cart with Dot. We now give a specimen of Mr. Dicken's description of the carrier's feelings. And we shall make our extract long enough to include a specimen of the fairy machinery of the story: "It was a heart so full of love for her; so bound up and held together by innumerable threads of winning remembrance, spun from the daily working of her many qualities of endearment; it was a heart in which she had enshrined herself so gently and so closely; a heart so single and so earnest in its Truth; so strong in right, so weak in wrong; that it could cherish neither passion nor revenge at first, and had only room to hold the broken image of its Idol. "But slowly, slowly; as the Carrier sat brooding on his hearth, now cold and dark; other and fiercer thoughts began to rise within him, as an angry wind comes rising in the night. The Stranger was beneath his outraged roof. Three steps would take him to his chamber-door. One blow would beat it in. You might do Murder before you know it,' Tackleton had said. How could it be Murder, if he gave the villain time to grapple with him hand to hand! He was the younger man. "It was an ill-timed thought, bad for the dark mood of his mind. It was an angry thought, goading him to some avenging act, that should change the cheerful house into a haunted place which lonely travellers would dread to pass by night; and where the timid would see shadows struggling in the ruined windows when the moon was dim, and hear wild noises in the stormy weather. "He was the younger man! Yes, yes; some lover who had won the heart that he had never touched. Some lover of her early choice: of whom she had thought and dreamed for whom she had pined and pined: when he had fancied her so happy by his side. Oh agony to think of it! "She had been above stairs with the baby, getting it to bed. As he sat brooding on the hearth, she came close beside him, without his knowledge-in the turning of the rack of his great misery, he lost all other soundsand put her little stool at his feet. He only knew it, when he felt her hand upon his own, and saw her looking up into his face. "With wonder? No. It was his first impression, and he was fain to look at her again, to set it right. No, not with wonder. With an eager and inquiring look; but not with wonder. At first it was alarmed and serious; then it changed into a strange, wild, dreadful smile of recognition of his thoughts; then there was nothing but her clasped hands on her brow, and her bent head, and falling hair. "Though the power of Omnipotence had been his to wield at that moment, he had too much of its Diviner property of Mercy in his breast, to have turned one feather's weight of it against her. But he could not bear to see her crouching down upon the little seat where he had often looked on her, with love and pride, so innocent and gay; and when she arose and left him, sobbing as she went, he felt it a relief to have the vacant place beside him rather than her so long cherished presence. This in itself was anguish keener than all; reminding him how desolate he was become, and how the great bond of his life was rent asunder. "The more he felt this, and the more he knew he could have better borne to see her lying prematurely dead before him with their little child upon her breast, the higher and the stronger rose his wrath against his enemy. He looked about him for a weapon. "There was a Gun hanging on the wall. He took it down and moved a pace or two towards the door of the perfidious Stranger's room. He knew the Gun was loaded. Some shadowy idea that it was just to shoot this man like a Wild Beast, seized him; and dilated in his mind until it grew into a monstrous demon in complete possession of him, casting out all milder thoughts and setting up its undivided empire. That phrase is wrong. Not casting out his milder thoughts, but artfully transforming them. Changing them into scourges to drive him on. Turning water into blood, Love into hate, Gentleness into blind ferocity. Her image, sorrowing, humbled, but still pleading to his tenderness and mercy with resistless power, never left his mind; but staying there, it urged him to the door; raised the weapon to his shoulder; fitted and nerved his finger to the trigger; and cried, Kill him! In his bed!' "He reversed the Gun to beat the stock upon the door; he already held it lifted in the air; some indistinct design was in his thoughts of calling out to him to fly, for God's sake, by the window "When, suddenly, the struggling fire illumined the whole chimney with a glow of light; and the Cricket on the Hearth began to chirp ! "No sound he could have heard; no human voice, not even her's; could so have moved and softened him, The artless words in which she had told him of her love for this same cricket, were once more freshly spoken ; her trembling, earnest manner at the moment, was again before him; her pleasant voice--oh what a voice it was, for making household music at the fireside of an honest man !— thrilled through and through his better nature, and awoke it into life and action. "He recoiled from the door, like a man walking in his sleep, awakened from a frightful dream; and put the Gun aside. Clasping his hands before his face, he then sat down again beside the fire, and found relief in tears. "The Cricket on tho Hearth came out into the room, and stood in a fairy shape before him, "I love it,' said the fairy voice, repeating what he well remembered, for the many times I have heard it, and the many thoughts its harmless music has given me.' True!" "She said so !' cried the Carrier. "This has been a happy home, John; and I love the cricket for its sake!' "It has been, Heaven knows,' returned the Carrier. She made it happy, alwaysuntil now.' "So gracefully sweet tempered; so do mestic, joyful, busy, and light-hearted!' said the voice. "Otherwise I never could have loved her as I did,' returned the Carrier. "The Voice, correcting him, said, ' do.' "The Carrier repeated, as I did.' But not firmly. His faultering tongue resisted his control, and would speak in its own way, for itself and him. "The Figure, in an attitude of invocation, raised its hand and said: Upon your own hearth' "His thoughts were constant to her image It was always there. "She sat plying her needle, before the fire, and singing to herself. Such a blithe, thriv ing, steady little Dot! The fairy figures turned upon him all at once, by one consent, with one prodigious concentrated stare; and seemed to say, 'Is this the light wife you are mourning for!' There were sounds of gaiety outside; musical instruments, and noisy tongues, and laughter. A crowd of young merry-makers came pour"The hearth she has blighted,' inter- ing in; among whom were May Fielding and posed the Carrier.' "The hearth she has-how often?blessed and brightened,' said the Cricket; the hearth which, but for her, were only a few stones and bricks and rusty bars, but which has been, through her, the Altar of your Home; on which you have nightly sacrificed some petty passion, selfishness, or care, and offered up the homage of a tranquil mind, a trusting nature, and an overflowing heart; so that the smoke from this poor chimney has gone upward with a better fragrance than the richest incense that is burnt before the richest shrines in all the gaudy Temples of this World!-Upon your own hearth; in its quiet sanctuary; surrounded by its gentle influences and associations; hear her! Hear me ! Hear every thing that speaks the language of your hearth and home!" "And pleads for her? enquired the Carrier. "All things that speak the language of your hearth and home, must plead for her!' returned the Cricket, "For they speak the truth." "And while the Carrier, with his head upon his hands, continued to sit meditating in his chair, the Presence stood beside him; suggesting his reflections by its power, and presenting them before him, as in a Glass or Picture. It was not a solitary Presence. From the hearth-stone, from the chimney; from the clock, the pipe, the kettle, and the cradle; from the floor, the walls, the ceiling, and the stairs; from the cart without, and the cup-board within, and the household implements; from every thing and every place with which she had ever been familiar, and with which she had ever entwined one recollection of herself in her unhappy husband's mind; Fairies came trooping forth. Not to stand beside him as the Cricket did, but to busy and bestir themselves. To do all honour to her image. To pull him by the skirts, and point to it when it appeared. To cluster round it, and embrace it, and strew flowers for it to tread on. To try to crown its fair head with their tiny hands. To show that they were fond of it and loved it; and that there was not one ugly, wicked, or accusatory creature to claim knowledge of it-none but their playful and approving selves. a score of pretty girls. Dot was the fairest of them all; as young as any of them too. They came to summon her to join their party. It was a dance. If ever little foot were made for dancing, hers was, surely. But she laughed, and shook her head, and pointed to her cookery on the fire, and her table ready spread: with an exulting defiance that rendered her more charming than she was before. And so she merrily dismissed them: nodding to her would-be partners, one by one, as they passed out, with a comical indifference, enough to make them go and drown themselves immediately if they were her admirers-end they must have been so, more or less; they couldn't help it. And yet indifference was not her character. Oh, no! For presently, there came a certain Carrier to the door; and bless her what a welcome she bestowed upon him! "Again, the staring figures turned upon him all at once, and seemed to say, 'Is this the wife who has forsaken you!' "A shadow fell upon the mirror or the picture; call it what you will. A great shadow of the Stranger, as he first stood underneath their roof; covering its surface, and blotting out all other objects. But the nimble fairies worked like Bees to clear it off again; and Dot again was there. tiful. Still bright and beau "Rocking her little Baby in its cradle; singing to it softly; and resting her head upon a shoulder which had its counterpart in the musing figure by which the Fairy Cricket stood. "The night I mean the real night: not going by Fairy clocks-was wearing now; and in this stage of the Carrier's thoughts, the moon burst out, and shone brightly in the sky. Perhaps some calm and quiet light had risen also, in his mind; and he could think more soberly of what had happened. "Although the shadow of the Stranger fell at intervals upon the glass-always distinct, and big, and thoroughly defined-it never fell so darkly as at first. Whenever it appeared, the Fairies uttered a general cry of consternation, and plied their little arms and legs, with inconceivable activity, to rub it out. And whenever they got at Dot again, and showed her to him once more, bright and beautiful, they cheered in the most inspiring manner. "They never showed her, otherwise than beautiful and bright, for they were Household Spirits to whom Falsehood is annihilation; and being so, what Dot was there for them, but the one active, beaming, pleasant little creature who had been the light and sun of the Carrier's Home!" The carrier at last succeeds in the hands of Mr. Dickens in overcoming every feeling except grief for his loss of his wife. Next day he is visited by Tackleton. The beautiful philosophical feelings to which he gives utterance appear to us to be wholly unnatural to any man, and much more to one who had married for love, and still more to a middle aged man who had married a girl. We must make another extract: "Did I consider,' said the Carrier, that I took her, at her age, and with her beauty, from her young companions, and the many scenes of which she was the ornament, in which she was the brightest little star that ever shone, to shut her up from day to day in my dull house, and keep my tedious company? Did I consider how little suited I was to her sprightly humour, and how wearisome a plodding man like me must be, to one of her quick spirit? Did I consider that it was no merit in me, or claim in me, that I loved her, when every body must who knew her? Never. I took advantage of her hopeful nature and her cheerful disposition, and I married her. I wish I never had! For her sake, not for mine! "Heaven bless her, for the cheerful constancy with which she has tried to keep the knowledge of this from me! And Heaven help me, that, in my slow mind, I have not found it out before! Poor child! Poor Dot! I not to find it out, who have seen her eyes fill with tears, when such a marriage as our own was spoken of! I, who have seen the secret trembling on her lips a hundred times, and never suspected it, till last night! Poor girl! That I could ever hope that she would be fond of me? That I could ever believe she was! "She has tried,' said the poor Carrier, with greater emotion than he had exhibited yet, I only now begin to know how hard she has tried, to be my dutiful and zealous wife. How good she has been; how much she has done; how brave and strong a heart she has ; let the happiness I have known under this roof bear witness! It will be some help and comfort to me, when I am here alone. "I sat upon that hearth, last night, all night. On the spot where she has often sat beside me, with her sweet face looking into mine. I called up her whole life, day by day, I had her dear self, in its every passage, in review before me, Aud upon my soul she is innocent, if there is One to judge the innocent and guilty!' "Stanch Cricket on the Hearth! Loyal household fairies! "Passion and distrust have left me,' said the Carrier; and nothing but my grief remains. In an unhappy moment some old lover, better suited to her tastes and years than I-forsaken, perhaps, for me-against her will, returned. In an unhappy moment, taken by surprise, and wanting time to think of what she did, she made herself a party to his treachery, by concealing it. Last night she saw him, in the interview we witnessed. It was wrong. But otherwise than this, she is innocent, if there is Truth on earth!' "If that is your opinion - Tackleton began. Let "So, let her go!' pursued the Carrier. Go, with my blessing for the many happy hours she has given me, and my forgiveness for any pang she has caused me. her go, and have the peace of mind I wish her. She'll never hate me. She'll learn to like me better, when I'm not a drag upon her, and she wears the chain I have rivetted, more lightly. This is the day on which I took her, with so little thought for her enjoyment, from her home. To-day she shall return to it, and I will trouble her no more. Her father and mother will be here to-day-we had made a little plan for keeping it together-and they shall take her home. I can trust her, there, or anywhere. She leaves me without blame, and she will live so I am sure. If I should die-I may perhaps while she is still young; I have lost some courage in a few hours-she'll find that I remembered her, and loved her to the last. This is the end of what you shewed me. Now, it's over.' "Oh no, John, not over. Do not say it's over yet! Not quite yet. I have heard your noble words. I could not steal away, pretending to be ignorant of what has affected me with such deep gratitude. Do not say it's over, till the clock has struck again!'" All this appears to us to be beautiful but perfectly unnatural sentiment, because it is contradictory of what we hold to be an indisputable truth-that the warmest and most generous love will, when converted into jealousy, be wild and terrible in proportion. The catastrophe is now, however, at hand. It turns out that the mysterious stranger is not a lover of Dot's, but of May, the young bride of Tackleton. He is the son of Caleb, the toyman, returned from South America where he was believed to have died. He returns to claim May, and has that morning married her. The secret of who he was, and what was his purpose, had been confided for one night to Dot alone-and hence their mysterious interview. Of course, every thing is right now; and even Tackleton is most |