CHRISTIAN AT THE GATE.

99

"Then Christian began to gird up his loins, and to address himself to his journey; and as he took leave of his friend, he again bade him God speed."

To the majority of our readers, however, the very mention of THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, will be as a spell, potent to revive the memory of some of the most delicious of their youthful reveries. The allegory in that wonderful book is so beautifully sustained; the great truths which it shadows forth are arrayed by the rich imagnation of the author, in a garb so attractive, that even to minds whose energies have for years been employed upon the matter-of-fact pursuits of this work-a-day world, the annexed plate representing "CHRISTIAN AT THE GATE," will scarcely fail to recall the recollection of those happy day when "THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS," with its deep meanings, and its suggestive plates-then but imperfectly comprehended-was the most attractive volume in the nursery library; the book which—elucidated, perhaps, by some dearly remembered mother-pre-eminently furnished the rich enjoyment of many a Sabbath evening.

Oh! thrilling tale of childhood's days!

Loved e'en in older years;

Thou callest back bright dreams, replete
With marvels, hopes, and fears.

It seemeth but a little while,

Since, wondering, I scann'd o'er

Thy page, with holy meaning rich,

And deep and sacred lore.

The hours flew on; I left my play,

My toys unheeded lay,

While thy strange tales, and pictures grim,

Through all the summer day,

Floated, like unsubstantial dreams,

In my charm-smitten brain;

And much I wish'd the time would come

For pilgrimage again.

It must have been, (so then I thought)

So sure a way to win

That promised home, where death and pain
May never enter in :

So sweet in goodly company
To walk upon the way,
And to the golden city's gates
Draw nearer day by day,

And now, this picture brings once more

The visions of past years;

Again "the king's highway" is seen;

The "pilgrim" re-appears:

There Christian stands with wistful face,

And bright aspiring eye;

The miry slough is safely cross'd;

The wicket-gate is nigh.

I, too, may tread the pilgrim-way;
I, too, may tread the road
That Christian trod, and gain at last
The blesséd bright abode

That beams on high in endless light,
Past the dark river's wave,

That glorious world of deathless joy
That shines beyond the grave.

INTERIOR OF A TURKISH CAFFINET.

THE renowned Byzantium-distinguished, since, above fifteen hundred years ago, it became an imperial city, by the august name of CONSTANTINOPLE-possesses in its incomparable position advantages to which few other cities can lay claim. Guarded by nature from hostile attacks, yet singularly accessible to the benefits of commercial intercourse, and commanding the opposite shores of Europe and Asia, Constantinople might well appear to the Christian emperor who made it is capital, to justify his choice. The master of the Roman world, intending that it should stand an eternal monument of the glories of his reign, employed in improving and enlarging, or rather in rebuilding it, an amount of wealth and labour only to be commanded by the monarch of obedient millions. The white marble quarries of Proconnesus, and the thick forests which overshadowed the shores of the Euxine, supplied the materials for this imperial city, and all that remained of ancient genius was employed in its erection; while, for its embellishment, various cities of Greece and Asia were despoiled of the priceless works of Phidias and other immortal sculptors. Its baths and aqueducts and public granaries, were such as befitted the dignity of a great capital; its porticoes were filled with statues; its gardens covered the banks of the Propontis; and, above all, its numerous churches proclaimed it a Christian metropolis. CONSTANTINOPLE stood