wither. Save sinned against haven, and in thy sight."

THE PRODIGAL SON.

Oh! that thou heard'st a still, small voice,
Bidding thy hopeless heart rejoice;
Unfolding worlds beyond the sky,
Speaking of immortality!

Telling thy soul 'tis not of earth,

But owning higher, holier birth;
Telling of glorious hopes on high,
Joys, lasting as eternity!

95

THE

PRODIGAL SON.

DIFFICULT as it is with half-length figures to form a strikingly effective historical composition, Spada, in the picture of which we give an engraving, and which is among the finest of his works, has admirably rendered one of the most touching incidents related in the gospel narrative.

No words save those of the inspired evangelist, can adequately describe the scene here represented by the painter:

"A certain man had two sons: and the younger of them said to his father, Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me. And he divided unto them his living. And not many days after, the younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living. And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and he began to be in want. And he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country; and he sent him into his fields to feed swine. And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat and no man gave unto him. And when he came to himself, he said, How many hired servants of my father's have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger! I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son: make me as one of thy hired servants. And he arose, and came to his father. But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him. And the son said unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son."

With fainting heart beneath his weary load

Of sorrow, see the wanderer tread the road

Tow'rds yon proud towers that rise against the sky;

His father's home-HIS OWN, in days gone by.

He lingers not within the woody vale,
Nor stays to pluck the early blossoms pale
That lie around, nor by the waters clear,
To hear the rush of flowing fountains near.

Now fades the glory of the sunny day,
The forest glows in evening's roseate ray;
The long, long way is past; no more to roam,
The trembling prodigal beholds his home.

But ere he tread its floor with faltering feet,-
Ere yet some old familiar voice may greet
The long lost child-he sees, a well-known face-
Rushes to meet a father's fond embrace.

One moment more, and on that father's breast
He sinks and weeps, like a tired child to rest;
Crying, "My Father! Oh, receive thy son;
Thy erring son; unworthy and undone !

"Take me once more to thy warm, loving heart;
Take me to peace, that I no more depart
To roam in sorrow o'er this world's wide waste,
Nor e'er again its bitter portion taste!"

And did the father, haply, turn away?

Ah, no! The child that on his bosom lay,
Though weak and sinful, wandering and wild,
Was still his own beloved, repentant child.

Father in heaven! So come we unto Thee;
Thou know'st our sinful, frail mortality;
Receive, forgive; in penitence we come ;

Through Him who died, take Thou the lost ones home.

THE HON. MRS. NORTON,

Second daughter of Thomas Sheridan, Esq., (son of the Right Hon. R. B. Sheridan and his first wife, the celebrated Miss Lindley)—and Caroline Henrietta Callander, (daughter of Colonel Callander of Craigforth, and Lady Elizabeth Mac Donnell.)

There's nought in Fate that can efface
From that pale brow,

That stately brow,

The memories born above.

To mortals, mortal change is given

The sunshine as the rain!

To them the comfort and the care

The pleasure and the pain!
To thee and thine, our very air

Is silent pain,

A heavy pain!

On earth thou askest Heaven!

CHRISTIAN AT THE GATE.

To those among our readers who are acquainted with that exquisite work of imagination, entitled "THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS," the accompanying beautiful engraving will be sufficiently intelligible. There may, however, among the numerous supporters of the People's Gallery of Engravings, be some persons to whom this master-piece of Bunyan's genius is as yet unknown; and for the benefit of such, we shall best illustrate the plate, by extracting a portion of the dialogue, &c., to which it has reference.

"GOOD-WILL. 'We make no objections against any, notwithstanding all that they have done before they come hither; they are in no wise cast out. And therefore, good Christian, come a little way with me, and I will teach thee about the way thou must go. Look before thee; dost thou see this narrow way? that is the way thou must go. It was cast up by the patriarchs, prophets, Christ, and his apostles, and it is as straight as a rule can make it; this is the way thou must go.'

"But,' said Christian, are there no turnings nor windings, by which a stranger may lose his way?'

"GOOD-WILL. "Yes; there are many ways butt down upon this, and they are crooked and wide: but thus thou mayest distinguish the right from the wrong-the right, only, being straight and narrow.'

"Then I saw in my dream, that Christian asked him further, if he could not help him off with his burden that was upon his back; for as yet he had not got rid thereof; nor could he by any means get it off without help.

"He told him. 'As to thy burden, be content to bear it, until thou comest to the place of deliverance; for there, it will fall from thy back of itself.'