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a figure with a feather in his cap, and armed with spear and shield: on a label above him are the words, "Youth to thirtyfive years."

At the top of the right side of the print is a label inscribed "Manhood to fifty years:" beneath is a figure seated at a table, counting money,-evidently the worldly man, who, having passed through the stages of pleasure and war, is now occupied with the acquisition of wealth. Under his feet is a label with the words, "Old age to seventy years."

The next figure, descending, is that of an old man leaning on a staff, under which is a label inscribed "Decrepit until death.”. The dead body is next represented, lying in a coffin, under which is a label with the word "Corruption."

In the centre, at the foot of the print, is a winged figure with flowing drapery, the wings expanded, and the hands resting upon the two labels, bearing the inscriptions, "Generation" and "Corruption." Under the left hand of this figure is the name of the artist, "Clau;" with this punning device, three claws on a shield. At the bottom are eight lines in monkish verse, (omitted in the Frontispiece,) which may be thus rendered into plain prose: "The state of man is exemplified in a flower:

The flower falls and perishes, so shall man also become ashes. If thou couldst know who thou art, and whence thou comest, Thou wouldst never smile, but ever weep.

There are three things which often make me lament:

First, it is a hard thing to know that I must die;

Secondly, I fear because I do not know when I shall die; Thirdly, I weep because I do not know what will become of me hereafter.”*

Such are the details of this curious print: the design is superior to the execution, and is a very interesting Illustration of Man's Progress from the Cradle to the Grave.

* See the paper by Mr. Thomas Winter Jones, of the British Museum, in Archæologia, vol. xxxv., pp. 167-189, 1853. The whole is extremely interesting.

A HYMN.

Oh, thou great Power! in whom I move:
For whom I live, to whom I die,
Behold me through thy beams of love,
Whilst on this couch of tears I lie;

And cleanse my sordid soul within,
By thy Christ's blood, the bath of sin.

No hallow'd oyls, no grains I need,
No rays of saints, no purging fire;
One rosie drop from David's seed
Was worlds of seas to quench thine ire :

O precious ransome! which once paid,
That Consummatum est was said.

And said by Him that said no more,
But seal'd it with his sacred breath:
Thou, then, that has dispong'd my score,
And dying wast the death of Death,

Be to me now, on thee I call,
My life, my strength, my joy, my all!

SIR HENRY WOTTON.

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