ing to confess their power, he complained of their malignity: "You never open your mouth," he exclaimed, "but with the intention to give pain; and you have often given me pain, not from the power of what you said, but from seeing your intention." But it was often very evident that the power as well as the aim of his blows was the cause of Johnson's dislike of them. One night, after Johnson had returned to London, and his two young friends were also in town, when Beauclerk and Langton had supped at a tavern, and sat till three in the morning, they resolved to go and call on Johnson and endeavor to prevail on him to join them in a ramble. They accordingly proceeded to his lodging, in the Temple, and rapped violently at his door, till he appeared in his nightdress, with his little black wig on his head instead of a nightcap, and a large poker in his hand. Upon ascertaining who his disturbers were, and what their errand, he exclaimed, "What! is it you, you dogs? I'll have a frisk with you." He was soon dressed, and the three sallied forth together into Covent Garden, where the greengrocers and fruiterers were arranging their hampers, just received from the country. Johnson attempted to help them, while the honest gardeners-half-surprised and half-amused-gazed at his huge figure and strange movements with wonder, and evident disrelish of his interference; and the young men looked on and were amused with the grotesque scene. Then repairing to a tavern, they had a bowl of Johnson's favorite lemonade prepared, when, in contempt of sleep, from which he had been aroused, he repeated a distich from an old drinking song, Short, O short, be thy reign, They then went down to the Thames and rowed to Billingsgate. Here Langton deserted his associates, having an engagement to breakfast with some young ladies; but the other two resolved to devote the whole day to the pleasures with which they had begun it, and Johnson scolded him for "leaving his social friends to go and sit with a set of one-idea'd girls." Garrick, having heard of this adventure, threatened Johnson with an exposure in the Chronicle: but Johnson said, "he durst not do it; his wife would not let him." This remark was evidently designed as an allusion to Garrick's domestic affairs; and the intimation it makes is alike creditable to himself, and the excellent woman whose influence had so great and happy an effect upon the manners and course of life of her less discreet and conscientious husband. "Under the arch by our mingling made, Thou and thy brother have gayly play'd; Ye may meet again where ye roved of yore, But as ye have met there-O, never more !" On rode the youth; and, the boughs among, Thus the wild birds o'er his pathway sung:"Wherefore so fast unto life away? Thou art leaving forever thy joy in our lay! With the breath of the world on thy spirit free; OLIVE MRS. HEMANS. OLIVE HATHAWAY. LIVE HATHAWAY has always appeared to me a very interesting creature. Lame from her earliest childhood, and worse than an orphan,—her mother being dead, and her father, from mental infirmity, incapable of supplying her place, -she seemed prematurely devoted to care and suffering. Always gentle and placid, no one ever remembered to have seen Olive gay. Even that merriest of all hours-the noon-day play-time at school -passed gravely and sadly with the little lame girl. She had no troop of playfellows, no chosen companions-joined in none of the innocent cabal or mischievous mirth of her comrades; and yet every one liked Olive, even although cited by her mistress as a pattern of sempstress-ship and good conduct—even although held up as that odious thing, a model-no one could help loving poor Olive, so entirely did her sweetness and humility disarm envy and mollify scorn. On leaving school, she brought home the same good qualities, and found them attended by the same results. To Rachel Strong, the village laundress, her assistance soon became invaluable. There was not such an ironer in the country. One could swear to the touch of her skillful fingers, whether in disentangling the delicate complexity of a point-lace cap, VOL. II, No. 5.-II or in bringing out the bolder beauties of a cut-work collar; one could swear to her handy-work just as safely as a bank-clerk may do to the calligraphy of a moneyed man on 'Change, or an amateur in art to the handling of a great master. There was no mistaking her touch. Things ironed by her looked as good as new, some said better; and her aunt's trade throve apace. But Olive had a trade of her own. Besides her accomplishments as a laundress, she was an incomparable needlewoman; could construct a shirt between sunrise and sunset; had a genuine genius for mantua-making; a real taste for millinery; was employed in half the houses round as a sempstress, at the rate of thirty-six cents a day; devoting by far the greater part of her small earnings to the comforts of her father, a settled inhabitant of the workhouse at Aberleigh. A happy man was poor William Hathaway, albeit the proud and the wordly-wise held him in scorn; happiest of all on the Sunday afternoons, when he came to dine with his daughter and her good aunt Rachel, and receive the pious dole, the hoarded half-pence, or the "splendid shilling," which it was her delight to accumulate for his little pleasures, and which he, child-like in all his ways, spent like a child, on cakes and gingerbread. There was no fear of the source failing; for gentle, placid, grateful, and humble, considerate beyond her years, and skillful far beyond her opportunities, every one liked to employ Olive Hathaway. The very sound of her crutch in the court, and her modest tap at the door, inspired a kindly, almost a tender feeling, for the afflicted and defenseless young creature whom patience and industry were floating so gently down the rough stream of life. Her person, when seated, was far from unpleasant, though shrunken and thin from delicacy of habit, and slightly leaning to one side from the constant use of the crutch. Her face was interesting from feature and expression, in spite of the dark and perfectly colorless complexion, which gave her the appearance of being much older than she really was. Her eyes, especially, were full of sweetness and power, and her long straight hair, parted on the forehead, and twisted into a thick knot behind, gave a statue-like grace to her head, that accorded ill with the coarse straw bonnet and brown stuff gown, of which her dress was usually composed. There was, in truth, a something elegant and refined in her countenance; and the taste that she displayed, even in the homeliest branches of her own homely art, fully sustained the impression produced by her appearance. If any of our pretty damsels wanted a particularly pretty gown, she had only to say to Olive, "Make it according to your own fancy;" and she was sure to be arrayed not only in the best fashion, but with the nicest attention to the becoming, both in color and form. Her taste was equally just in all things. She would select, in a moment, the most beautiful flower in the garden, and the finest picture in a room; and going about, as she did, all over the village, hearing new songs and new stories from the young, and old tales and old ballads from the aged, it was remarkable that Olive, whose memory was singularly tenacious for what she liked, retained only the pretty lines or the striking incidents. For the bad or the indifferent, she literally had no memory; they passed by her as the idle wind, that she regarded not. Her fondness for poetry, and the justness of taste which she displayed in it, exposed poor Olive to one serious inconvenience; she was challenged as being a poetess herself; and although she denied the accusation earnestly, blushingly, and even fearfully, and her accusers could bring neither living witnesses nor written documents to support their assertion, yet so difficult is it to disprove that particular calumny, that, in spite of her reiterated denial, the charge passes for true in Aberleigh to this very hour. Habit, however, reconciles all things; people may become accustomed even to that sad nick-name, an authoress. In process of time, the imputed culprit ceased to be shocked at the sound, seemed to have made up her mind to bear the accusation, and even to find some amusement in its truth or its falsity: there was an arch and humorous consciousness in her eyes, on such occasions, that might be construed either way, and left it an even wager whether our little lame girl were a poetess or not. Such was and such is Olive Hathaway, the humble and gentle village mantua-maker; and such she is likely to continue; for, too refined for the youths of her own station, and too unpretty to attract those above her, it is very clear to me that my friend Olive will be an old maid. There are certain indications of character, too, which point to that as her destiny: a particularity respecting her tools of office, which renders the misplacing a needle, the loss of a pin, or the unwinding half-an-inch of cotton, an evil of no small magnitude; a fidgety exactness as to plaits and gathers, a counting of threads and comparing of patterns, which our notable housewives, who must complain of something, grumble at as waste of time; a horror of shreds and litter, which distinguishes her from all other mantuamakers that ever sewed a seam; and lastly a love of animals, which has procured for her the friendship and acquaintance of every four-footed creature in the vicinity. This is the most suspicious symptom of all. Not only is she followed and idolized by the poor old cur which Rachel Strong keeps to guard her house, and the still more aged donkey that carries home her linen; but every cat, dog, or bird, every variety of domestic pet that she finds in the different houses where she works, immediately following the strange instinct by which animals, as well as children, discover who likes them, makes up to and courts Olive Hathaway. For her doth Farmer Brookes's mastiff, surliest of watch-dogs, pretermit his incessant bark; for her, and for her only, will Dame Wheeler's tabby cease to spit and erect her bristles, and become, as nearly as her spiteful cat can become so, gentle and amiable! Even the magpie at the Rose, most accomplished and most capricious of all talking birds, will say, "Very well, ma'am," in answer to Olive's "How d'ye do?" and whistle an accompaniment to her "God save the King," after having persevered in a dumb resentment for a whole afternoon. There's magic about her placid smile and her sweet low voice-no sulkiness of bird or beast can resist their influence. And Olive hath abundance of pets in return, from my grayhound, Mayflower, downward; and, indeed, takes the whole animal world under her protection, whether pets or no; begs off condemned kittens, nurses sick ducklings, will give her last penny to prevent an unlucky urchin from taking a bird's nest; and is cheated and laughed at for her tender-heartedness, as is the way of the world in such cases. Yes, Olive will certainly be an old maid, and a happy one-content and humble, and cheerful and BELOVED! WHAT CAN WOMAN DESIRE MORE? The National Magazine. MAY, 1853. the primitive truth upon the world; next came the "Revival Epoch," under Edwards, Wesley, and Whitefield; then, and almost immediately, ensued the great Aggressive Movement originating Sunday-schools, Bible, Tract, and Missionary Societies, the Temperance Reform, THE CHRISTIANITY REQUIRED BY THE TIMES. &c. By degrees the foreign world has opened WE REFORM IN CHRISTIAN BENEFICENCE. sit down at our "Editor's Table," to make a few hearty remarks on a hearty subject-a subject which needs not much elaboration, though it certainly needs much conscientious revision throughout the Christian world. Many of the measures discussed in this series of articles, especially in the last one, have, it must be acknowledged, their radix in "the root of all evil"-money; and divinely wise is the providential ordination which thus connects so much good with so much evil. The great reforms which we have shown to devolve upon the "Christianity of our times," cannot be prosecuted, any more than war itself, without such "sinews." Here, indeed, is their most urgent desideratum, and we think we mistake not when we say, that the next great idea to be brought out and made prominent in the Church, is its true standard of pecuniary liberality-the right relation of Christian men to their property. The subject has already begun to attract attention; but it is yet altogether too vague; it needs development, precision, demonstration. Several prize volumes have recently been published upon it; several personal instances-princely ones-of systematic charity, founded upon a corrected view of the subject, have become familiar to the public, and, as examples, will do much to promote the beneficence of the times; but the idea is yet too indefinite to have a distinct impression on the public mind of the Church. It must be more discussed. It is THE idea for the next general discussions of Christian reformers. And a sublime theme for them is it ennobled not only by its essential beneficence, but by not a few profound ethical relations. Half the energy now expended in wranglings that distract the Christian world, and disfigure the Church with sectarian bigotry, would be sufficient, if devoted to this great question, to advance Christendom fifty per cent. in a couple of generations, and would come near redeeming the world in a century. The remark is emphatic, but we utter it in all soberness. A change amounting to a revolution must come over Christendom, in this respect, before Christianity can fairly make its experiment in our world. And does not the providence of God present the solution of this question as, precisely and inevitably, the next great duty of the Church? A series of providential dispensations have followed each other in her modern history until she has been brought to confront directly this problem, and here she standshesitating, shall we say? No-we trust not hesitating; but preparing to solve it, and to derive from it a new, and, as we believe, a transcendent dispensation of success. First in these providential dispensations was the Reformation, letting out again the light of its doors to evangelization, till now we have access to Asia-China on the east, India on the south; to Africa-south, east, and north, everywhere, in fine; more or less, though with some drawbacks, to Europe; nearly all of the northern and southern continents of the New World, and throughout the isles of the Pacific and South Seas. Everywhere, in fact, does the Macedonian vision stand out on the boundaries of the nations and beckon us. Not even in the age chosen by God for the introduction of the Christian religion, because of the general sway and peace of the Roman Empire, was the whole world more amply thrown open for the march of the Church. There is now passing over her a day of opportunity such as the history of our fallen race has never before seen. What is the providential meaning of these facts? Not only have we this great access to the nations, but the Scriptures have been rendered into most of their languages. We have now about two hundred translations. Out of the eight or nine hundred millions of our world's population, some six hundred millions have the oracles of Revelation in their vernacular. This was the next essential step; for what could the living agency, entering into these open doors, have done with masses of reclaimed pagans without the Scriptures? What else than prepare another edition of Popery? The next great need was men; and even here, where the chief obstacle to the missionary movement was at first apprehended, the providence of God has met the Church in due time. The "American Board," when it started, challenged all Protestant Christendom for men, and was ready to pledge itself to send out all who should be properly provided; now it has no lack of them. When the Methodist China Mission was started, two or three missionaries were called for: the late Bishop Hedding had immediately some forty applications, mostly from promising, educated young men. An inspiration from on high-an heroic spirit of devotion and selfsacrifice has manifestly been poured out upon the Christian ministry to provide for this want, at the very time that the Church had prepared itself for the provision; at a time, too, when her domestic fields presented the most urgent opportunities for laborers. Thus has God exemplified the great principle of his providential economy toward her, viz., to provide her opportunities as she prepared herself for them. "Do the duty next to you, and all others will reveal themselves in their due order," says Goethe-a maxim applicable to public as well as personal conduct, and corroborated by the whole history of the Church. Meanwhile many surprising facilities for the spread of Christianity have been provided. The cheapness of knowledge, by the improvements of the press, is a peculiar advantage of our Missionaries can labor and Bibles be distributed in nearly all the South American States. |