recorded in writing, but a series of basreliefs exhibits all the particulars of it. Sennacherib commanded in person at the siege, and after the town was taken sat on his throne to give decrees concerning it, and to receive the submission of the conquered and dispose of the prisoners. If any man doubts the severity of the punishment which fell upon the wretched Jews for their idolatry, he will do well to study Mr. Layard's accounts and drawings. Sennacherib's account of the little douceur-his direct claims which Hezekiah paid him to avert his vengeance, are consistent with those of the writer of the Second Book of Kings. The thirty talents of gold are expressly mentioued as the principal part of the booty. The builder of the palace at Kouyunjik is thus identified with the Sennacherib of Scripture. It is Sennacherib's throne that was found as above stated; that is very plain from the sculptures. "The metal fragments sent to England have been skilfully put together, so that the Assyrian king's throne upon which Sennacherib himself sat, and the footstool which he used, may now be seen at the British Museum. A rod with loose rings, to which was once hung an embroidered curtain, appears to have belonged to the back of the chair, or to a framework raised above or behind it."

a hole, as if for a string to run through, and the finder has no doubt that this clay was attached, as we attach seals in wax, to an agreement or treaty. Now, we know from Scripture (2 Kings, xvii. 4) that Hoshea, King of Israel, by conspiring with So (believed to be Sabaco), King of Egypt, called down upon his nation the wrath of Shalmaneser; and there can be little doubt that the parchment or papyrus to which the clay was once attached exhibited the settlement on account of this conspiracy between Shalmaneser and So. The document must have long since perished, but the clay enables us to guess at the subject-matter of it.

The words of Scripture receive curious illustration from scenes in the bas-reliefs. On one slab a castle is portrayed with the shields of the defenders hung round the walls; and in the 27th chapter of Ezekiel, verse 11, are the words "they hanged their shields upon thy walls round about." It would seem, from the context in Ezekiel, that the object of this was to set off the beauty of the citadel; and we see from the sculptures that such a practice, whatever may have been its object, prevailed among Assyrian warriors. It is recorded in the Second Book of Kings that the heads of the seventy sons of Ahab were brought to Jezreel in baskets and laid in two heaps at the gate. The sculpAgain, the account of the arms of King tures abundantly show that acts of this Sargon having been carried as far as Cy-kind were not uncommon; for we see not prus, and of his having received tribute only the act of decapitation, or the carryfrom kings in that island, was known to ing away the head of an enemy as a trous only through interpretations of cunei-phy, but also the official reception of the form records found in the mounds. If heaps of heads soldiers bringing them the interpretation was incorrect, or if the statement should be unsupported, the account might be mere fiction. But since the announcement of the fact on the authority of the Assyrian record, a slate has been discovered at Idalium, in Cyprus,* with the effigy of Sargon, and an inscription containing his name and titles, thus furnishing a remarkable proof of the faithfulness of the chronicle, and of the soundness of the translation.

in, and officers taking account of them. The prophet Zechariah mentions "the bells of the horses," and the sculptures explain the allusion, as in them the horses of the cavalry and of the chariots are continually represented with bells round their necks. Shushan, the palace, is mentioned in the inscriptions the same as in Scripture. Instances of the Scriptural records and the Assyrian remains illustrating one another repeatedly occur; but perhaps in nothing is this so remarkable as in the mutual light reflected from the written description of Solomon's temple and palaces, of their workmanship and ornamants, and from the remains, representations, and accounts of the Assyrian palaces. We have not space to follow these illustrations, but they will amply repay the labour of any one who may study posed-or perhaps already determined to establish a them.* There is every reason to believe National Museum in the Union, to which the Cyprus explorations will furnish the first antiquities.

Among the curiosities turned out by Mr. Layard was a piece of clay bearing impressions of the seals of state of Egypt and Assyria, the respective kings of those countries being at the period Sabaco the Second and Shalmaneser. In the clay is

We should draw attention to the fact that the Government of the United States has lately interested itself in explorations in the Isle of Cyprus; and that it is pro

Since this paper was written, a most interesting

that the wood in the magnificent Assyrian | dressed himself to obliterating with a palaces was cedar of Lebanon; and some chisel the features of the king wherever of it, quite sound, remains to this day in he was portrayed; and poor Sennachethe mounds. Mr. Layard, smelling one day in the excavations the fragrance of cedar, inquired the meaning of it, and found that the Arabs, wanting a fire, were burning a beam from the ruins; it had retained its scent for probably three thousand years. The bronzes which were found cannot have been all made of native, or even of Asiatic metal; the tin was procured immediately from Phonicia, which was tributary to Assyria. But we know that the Phoenicians came to Britain for their tin; so that the relics which an Englishman digs out of the mounds of Nineveh in the present age, and which belonged to Sennacherib and his ancestors, contain Cornish tin taken from the mines three or four thousand years ago.

It is remarkable that no private house has been traced in Nineveh, so that the domestic life of the Assyrians is still unknown to us. The people, no doubt, dwelt in tents, or in very frail huts, which were easily destroyed when the city was taken. There is reason to think that all or many of the mounds were parts of one immense city which was spread out between them. Some of the mounds were fortified, and the ramparts and ditches can still be traced; but it is doubtful whether there were walls surrounding the whole vast city. When the empire fell with the grandson of Esar-haddon, it is clear that the palaces and temples were destroyed by fire, the work either of the Assyrians themselves, who may have been as heroic as the citizens of Moscow were in a later day, or of the victorious enemy after everything which could conveniently be carried away had been removed. That the enemy had a spite against the proud sculptures, and wished to blot out the deeds which they commemorate, is evident, for he had begun the work of defacing the slabs. Probably finding this a tedious task, he ad

rib's head has been punched in this way over and over again. Perhaps, when there was found to be not time even for the punching, fire was resorted to; we may be thankful that some of the slabs and images escaped both the chisel and the fire. It is still a question how the Assyrians disposed of their dead, because, although hundreds of graves have been found, not one can be absolutely pronounced to belong to that nation, but may be of the Persian, or Macedonian, or Arabian period. This absence of tombs, where so much of other remains has been found, suggests that the dead may have been burned; and the discovery of a few vases which may be sepulchral urns gives some colour to this supposition.

So considerable a knowledge has been acquired, through Mr. Layard's means, of the architecture of Assyria, that Mr. Fergusson, in a very interesting work, has suggested a restoration of the palaces; and Mr. Fergusson's views appear to be good in the eyes of Mr. Layard. We cannot, however, further refer to the restorations, our subject having been the explorations effected by Mr. Layard. We are obliged on the present occasion to pass over also the many most interesting excursions which Mr. Layard made into Kurdistan, Babylonia, and Armenia. His accounts of the modern Arabs, Nestorians, and Yezidis or Devil-worshippers, are as copious and instructive as those of his explorations. His adventures, and the traits of Arab and Turkish character, are most amusing. He did not make the whole of his examinations at one visit, but returned to Europe after the first trial, which had been undertaken at the joint expense of Sir Stratford Canning and himself, and then again went out to the Tigris and resumed his work in communication with the British Museum, and aided by a grant of British money. He had troubles innumerable to encounter- frequent sickness, constant danger, want of mechanical means, the hardheadedness of the Arabs, the ignorance and obstructive cunning of the Turks; but in spite of all he triumphed, and did his work thoroughly. To his efforts we owe the return to its place in history of a disputed, especially the readings of proper names. Mr. country over which the waters of oblivSmith has, however, Sir H. Rawlinson with him. ion had been rolling for thousands of

decipherment, by Mr. Smith of the British Museum, of certain tablets found in the palace of Sardanapalus, has been made public. The inscriptions, which date from the 7th century B.C., are but copies of inscriptions 1000, or more, years older. These tablets contain a profane account of the Deluge; and Mr. Smith's communication, made in the second week of December 1872, will greatly delight those who take an interest in these subjects. As in other cases, some of the interpretations are

Whatever may have been his success as to details, it is not disputed that he has unravelled the substance of the

accounts.

The Palaces of Nineveh and Persepolis Restored.

years. He has presented us with his of a third person, however amiable, more own invaluable discoveries, and he has sacred still should be the parting beset hundreds of brains working to extract tween an author and his work. Madame the full knowledge derivable therefrom. de Grantmesnil is in that moment so solHe has not only been himself a potent emn to a genius earnest as hers—she is friend to science, but he is the cause bidding farewell to a companion with that others make their learning produc- whom, once dismissed into the world, she tive. We can admire him in three ca- can never converse familiarly again; it pacities, in any one of which a great rep-ceases to be her companion when it beutation might have been earned. A comes ours. Do not let us disturb the thoughtful and sound diviner, he, on sol- last hours they will pass together." id grounds, and after a personal inspec- These words struck me much. I suption, determined that the mounds of the pose there is truth in them. I can comTigris must be something more than prehend that a work which has long been heaps of earth and rubbish; and so firm all in all to its author, concentrating his was his conviction of their concealed thoughts, gathering round it the hopes treasure, that the comparative failure of and fears of his inmost heart, dies, as it attempts less earnest than his did not were, to him when he has completed its shake it. An earnest and thorough work-life for others, and launched it into a er under great difficulties, he did service world estranged from the solitude in far beyond the common as a digger and which it was born and formed. I can searcher. A collector and appraiser of almost conceive that, to a writer like you, the prizes, he was able on the spot to as- the very fame which attends the work sign their relative values to the objects thus sent forth chills your own love for it. found, to understand their general mean- The characters you created in a fairy ing, to secure the information derivable land, known but to yourself, must lose from such as could not be removed, and something of their mysterious charm to foresee the scientific results which when you hear them discussed and cavmust undoubtedly proceed from his la- illed at, blamed or praised, as if they were bours. Those who have studied his really the creatures of streets and salons. works will not fail to do him full justice; I wonder if hostile criticism pains or but there are very many of the present enrages you as it seems to do such other generation, probably, who do not know authors as I have known. M. Savarin, what we owe him, nor how suddenly and for instance, sets down in his tablets as completely he resuscitated the records of an enemy to whom vengeance is due the an empire, and opened a new field for smallest scribbler who wounds his selfour instruction and entertainment. love, and says frankly, "To me praise is food, dispraise is poison. Him who feeds me I pay; him who poisons me I break on the wheel. "M. Savarin is, indeed, a skilful and energetic administrator to his own reputation. He deals with it as if it were a kingdom-establishes fortifications for its defence-enlists soldiers to fight for it. He is the soul and centre of a confederation in which each is bound to defend the territory of the others, and all those territorities united constitute the imperial realm of M. Savarin. Don't think me an ungracious satirist in what I am thus saying of our brilliant friend. It is not I who here speak; it is himself. He avows his policy with the naïveté which makes the charm of his style as writer. "It is the greatest mistake," he said to me yesterday, "to talk of the Republic of Letters. Every author who wins a name is a sovereign in his own domain, be it large or small. Woe to any republican who wants to dethrone me!" Somehow or other, when M. Savarin thus talks I feel as if he were betraying the

From Blackwood's Magazine.

THE PARISIANS.

BY LORD LYTTON.

BOOK FOURTH.
CHAPTER I.

FROM ISAURA CICOGNA TO MADAME DE
GRANTMESNIL.

IT is many days since I wrote to you, and but for your delightful note just received, reproaching me for silence, I should still be under the spell of that awe which certain words of M. Savarin were well fitted to produce. Chancing to ask him if he had written to you lately, he said, with that laugh of his, good-humouredly ironical, "No, Mademoiselle, I am not one of the Facheux whom Molière has immortalized. If the meeting of lovers should be sacred from the intrusion

cause of genius. I cannot bring myself acquaintance so far, that one cannot help to regard literature as a craft-to me it feeling how much he is to be pitied. He is a sacred mission; and in hearing this is so envious! and the envious must be "sovereign" boast of the tricks by which so unhappy. And then he is at once so he maintains his state, I seem to listen near and so far from all the things that to a priest who treats as imposture the he envies. He longs for riches and luxreligion he professes to teach. M. Sava- ury, and can only as yet earn a bare comrin's favourite élève now is a young con- petence by his labours. Therefore he tributor to his journal, named Gustave hates the rich and luxurious. His literRameau. M. Savarin said the other day ary successes, instead of pleasing him, in my hearing, "I and my set were Young render him miserable by their contrast France-Gustave Rameau and his set with the fame of the authors whom he are New Paris." envies and assails. He has a beautiful head, of which he is conscious, but it is joined to a body without strength or grace. He is conscious of this too: but it is cruel to go on with this sketch. You can see at once the kind of person who, whether he inspire affection or dislike, cannot fail to create an interest — painful but compassionate.

"And what is the distinction between the one and the other?" asked my American friend, Mrs. Morley.

"The set of Young France,' answered M. Savarin, "had in it the hearty consciousness of youth: it was bold and vehement, with abundant vitality and animal spirits; whatever may be said against it in other respects, the power of thews and sinews must be conceded to its chief representatives. But the set of New Paris' has very bad health, and very indifferent spirits. Still, in its way, it is very clever; it can sting and bite as keenly as if it were big and strong. Rameau is the most promising member of the set. He will be popular in his time, because he represents a good deal of the mind of his time-viz., the mind and the

time of New Paris.'"

You will be pleased to hear that Dr. C. considers my health so improved, that I may next year enter fairly on the profession for which I was intended and trained. Yet I still feel hesitating and doubtful. To give myself wholly up to the art in which I am told I could excel, must alienate me entirely from the ambition that yearns for fields in which, alas! it may perhaps never appropriate to itself a rood for culture-only wander, lost in a vague fairyland, to which it has not the Do you know anything of this young fairy's birthright. O thou great EnRameau's writings? You do not know chantress, to whom are equally subject himself, for he told me so, expressing a the streets of Paris and the realm of desire that was evidently very sincere, to Faerie - thou who hast sounded to the find some occasion on which to render deeps that circumfluent ocean called you his homage. He said this the first "practical human life," and hast taught time I met him at M. Savarin's, and be- the acutest of its navigators to consider fore he knew how dear to me are your- how far its courses are guided by orbs in self and your fame. He came and sate heaven-canst thou solve this riddle by me after dinner, and won my interest which, if it perplexes me, must perplex at once by asking me if I had heard that so many? What is the real distinction you were busied on a new work; and between the rare genius and the comthen, without waiting for my answer, he monalty of human souls that feel to the launched forth into praises of you, which quick all the grandest and divinest things made a notable contrast to the scorn with which the rare genius places before which he spoke of all your contempo- them, sighing within themselves—"This raries, except indeed M. Savarin, who rare genius does but express that which however, might not have been pleased to was previously familiar to us, so far as hear his favourite pupil style him "a thought and sentiment extend?" Nay, great writer in small things." I spare the genius itself, however eloquent, nevyou his epigrams on Dumas and Vic-er does, never can, express the whole tor Hugo and my beloved Lamartine. of the thought or the sentiment it inThough his talk was showy, and dazzled terprets: on the contrary, the greater me at first, I soon got rather tired of it the genius is, the more it leaves a someeven the first time we met. Since thing of incomplete satisfaction on our then I have seen him very often, not only at M. Savarin's, but he calls here at least every other day, and we have become quite good friends. He gains on

minds-it promises so much more than it performs-it implies so much more than it announces. I am impressed with the truth of what I thus say in proportion

wings stirring within its shell-wings, alas! that are but those of the humblest and shortest-lived sort of moth, scarcely born into daylight before it dies. Could it reason, it might regret its earlier life, and say, "Better be the silk-worm than the moth."

From the Same to the Same.

as I reperuse and restudy the greatest settled, how struggling my whole nature writers that have come within my narrow at this moment is! I wonder what is the range of reading. And by the greatest sensation of the chrysalis which has been writers I mean those who are not exclu- a silk-worm, when it first feels the new sively reasoners (of such I cannot judge), nor mere poets (of whom, so far as concerns the union of words with music, I ought to be able to judge), but the few who unite reason and poetry, and appeal at once to the common-sense of the multitude and the imagination of the few. The highest type of this union to me is Shakespeare; and I can comprehend the justice of no criticism on him which does not allow this sense of incomplete satisfaction augmenting in proportion as the poet soars to his highest. I ask again, In what consists this distinction between the rare genius and the commonalty of minds that exclaim, "He expresses what we feel, but never the whole of what we feel?" Is it the mere power over language, a larger knowledge of dictionaries, a finer ear for period and cadence, a more artistic craft in casing our thoughts and sentiments in well-selected words? Is it true what Buffon says, "that the style is the man"? Is it true what I am told Goethe said, "Poetry is form"? I cannot believe this; and if you tell me it is true, then I no longer pine to be a writer. But if it be not true, explain to me how it is that the greatest genius is popular in proportion as it makes itself akin to us by uttering in better words than we employ that which was already within us, brings to light what in our souls was latent, and does but correct, beautify, and publish the correspondence which an ordinary reader carries on privately every day, between himself and his mind or his heart. If this superiority in the genius be but style and form, I abandon my dream of being something else than a singer of words by another to the music of another. But then, what then? My knowledge of books and art is wonder fully small. What little I do know I gather from very few books, and from what I hear said by the few worth listening to whom I happen to meet; and out of these, in solitude and reverie, not by conscious effort, I arrive at some results which appear to my inexperience original. Perhaps, indeed, they have the same kind of originality as the musical compositions of amateurs who effect a cantata or a quartette made up of borrowed details from great masters, and constituting a whole so original that no real master would deign to own it. Oh, if I could get you to understand how un

Have you known well any English people in the course of your life? I say well, for you must have had acquaintance with many. But it seems to me so difficult to know an Englishman well. Even I, who so loved and revered Mr. Selby I, whose childhood was admitted into his companionship by that love which places ignorance and knowledge, infancy and age, upon ground so equal that heart touches heart- cannot say that I understand the English character to anything like the extent to which I fancy I understand the Italian and the French. Between us of the Continent and them of the island the British Channel always flows. There is an Englishman here to whom I have been introduced, whom I have met, though but seldom, in that society which bounds the Paris world to me." Pray, pray tell me, did you ever know, ever meet him? His name is Graham Vane. He is the only son, I am told, of a man who was a célébrité in England as an orator and statesman, and on both sides he belongs to the haute aristocratie. He himself has that indescribable air and mien to which we apply the epithet "distinguished." In the most crowded salon the eye would fix on him, and involuntarily follow his movements. Yet his manners are frank and simple, wholly without the stiffness or reserve which are said to characterize the English. There is an inborn dignity in his bearing which consists in the absence of all dignity assumed. But what strikes me most in this Englishman is an expression of countenance which the English depict by the word "open - that expression which inspires you with a belief in the existence of sincerity. Mrs. Morley said of him, in that poetic extravagance of phrase by which the Americans startle the English-“That man's forehead would light up the Mammoth Cave." Do you not know, Eulalie, what it is to us cultivators of art -art being the expression of truth through fiction