onsists of 118 squares, 15 by
21 inches each, fitted into copper frames, in a large centre and two sides;
in all 19 feet high, and 15 feet wide, intended for a Venetian window-case
in St. George's Church, Liverpool. The original picture was painted for
this purpose, by commission from the Corporation, in the year 1826, for
which the artist received 1,000 guineas. Perhaps in all the productions of
British art there is not a more appropriate subject for the embellishment
of a church, than Hilton's representation of this sublime event. The
countenance and figure of the crucified Saviour are admirably drawn: his
placid resignation is finely contrasted with the muscular figures of the
two thieves struggling in the last agonies of torture: the spike-nails and
blood-drops of the hands and feet, and the title on the cross are closely
preserved. The group of women at the foot of the cross, the lifeless form,
drooping hand, anxious eye, and gushing tear, the terrified and afflicted
populace, and the unperturbed devotional gaze of a few by-standers are too
among the masterly beauties of this composition. The lights are well kept,
and the entire effect of the Window is that of awe-inspiring grandeur.

It is somewhat curious, that on the evening Mr. Wilmshurst put together
his Liverpool Window, his larger Window of the Field of Cloth of Gold, was
totally destroyed by fire, and by the next morning all its glories were
melted (or vitrified) into tears.

* * * * *

SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.

* * * * *

THE TWA BURDIES.

BY THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD.

When the winter day had past an' gane,
Twa wee burdies came into our hearth stane;
An' they lookit a'round them wi' little din,
As if they had living souls within.

"O, bonny burdies, come tell to me
If ye are twa burdies o' this countrye?
An' where ye were gaun when ye tint your gate,
A-winging the winter shower sae late?"

"We are cauld, we are cauld--ye maun let us bide,
For our father's gane, an' our mother's a bride:
But in her bride's bed though she be,
We would rather cour on the earth wi' thee!"

"O, bonny burdies, my heart is sair
To see twa motherless broods sae fair.
But flee away, burdies! flee away!
For I darenae bide wi' you till day."

"Ye maun let us bide till our feathers dry,
For the time of our trial's drawing nigh.
A voice will call at the hour