excavations in Assyria had now been expended by Mr. Layard. He had
every reason to congratulate himself upon the results of his labors.
Scarcely a year before, with the exception of the ruins of Khorsobad,
not one Assyrian monument was known. Almost sufficient materials had
now been obtained to restore much of the lost history of the country,
and to confirm the vague traditions of the learning and civilization
of its people, hitherto considered fabulous. The monuments had been
carefully preserved, and the inscriptions in the cuneiform character
copied entire. Bidding his workmen an affectionate farewell, and
receiving their best wishes for his future prosperity, Mr. Layard left
the ancient Assyria for England.
Our explorer was not allowed to remain inactive long. After a few
months' residence in England, during the year 1848, to recruit his
constitution, he received orders to proceed to his post of Her
Majesty's Embassy in Turkey. Soon afterwards, his work, "Nineveh and
its Remains," was published; and so intense was the interest excited,
that the Trustees of the British Museum requested him to undertake
the superintendence of a second expedition into Assyria. Mr. Layard
cheerfully consented, and immediately formed a plan of operations.
Mr. H. Cooper, a competent artist, was appointed to accompany the
expedition, and several Arabs, who had been found able and faithful,
were secured by Mr. Layard. Such was the size of the party formed,
that it was deemed necessary to journey in a caravan to Mosul. On the
way, Mr. Layard, ever observing and curious, traced the line of the
celebrated retreat of Xenophon and his ten thousand Greeks.
The very day after his arrival at Mosul, Mr. Layard visited the
mound of Konyunjik. The earth had accumulated above the ruins to a
considerable depth; and, to save the labor of clearing it all away,
the workmen constructed tunnels. Twelve or fourteen parties of laborers
were organized by Mr. Layard, and all worked under his superintendence.
Operations were carried on at the same time at the great mound of
Nimroud. Within two months, several magnificent chambers were excavated
at Konyunjik. Assyrian conquests were represented upon the bas-reliefs,
each chamber being devoted to one conquering expedition. Thus each was,
so to speak, a new volume of history. An understanding of the copious
inscriptions in cuneiform character was all that was necessary to the
perusal; and, thanks to the exertions of Rawlinson, Hincks, and other
scholars, this character was now readable to a considerable extent.
The Assyrian mode of building was fully illustrated on the bas-reliefs.
From them, Mr. Layard found that the Assyrians were well acquainted
with the lever and the roller, and also with the art of twisting thick
ropes. The men employed in building were known to be captives by their
wearing chains, and being urged on by masters armed with staves. A king
was represented as superintending the erection of the edifice, and Mr.
Layard says that there can be but little doubt that it was intended for
Sennacherib, whom the inscriptions mention as the builder of the great
palace of Nineveh, and as a mighty conqueror.
The discovery of the grand entrance to the palace of Konyunjik was
an important result of Mr. Layard's labors. It was a façade on the
south-east side of the edifice. Ten colossal bulls, with six human
figures of gigantic proportions, were here grouped together, and the
length of the whole, without including the sculptured walls continued
beyond the smaller entrances, was estimated at one hundred and eighty
feet. Among the figures that adorned this grand entrance was seen the
Assyrian Hercules, strangling a lion. The legs, feet, and drapery of
the god were in the boldest relief, and designed with truth and vigor.
On the slabs in one of the chambers of this palace was represented the
siege and capture of Lachish, or Lakhisha, a Jewish city, which, as
we know from Scripture, was taken by Sennacherib. The whole power of
the king seemed to have been called forth to take this stronghold. All
the operations of the besiegers were represented. Before the gate of
the city was Sennacherib, seated on a gorgeous throne, giving orders
for the slaughter of the citizens. The chiefs of conquered tribes
were represented as crouching at the foot of the throne. At the head
of the king was an inscription, which Dr. Hincks thus translates:
"Sennacherib, the mighty king, king of the country of Assyria, sitting
on the throne of judgment, before (or at the entrance of) the city
of Lachish (Lakhisha). I give permission for its slaughter." This
furnishes a very important illustration of the Bible.
[Illustration: SENNACHERIB ENTHRONED BEFORE LACHISH.]
In a chamber, in the south-west corner of the same palace, was found a
large number of finely engraved seals, and among them was one--believed
to be the royal signet--having engraved upon it a king plunging a
dagger into a rampant lion. Egyptian and Phœnician seals were also
discovered in the same apartment. One of the Egyptian seals has been
discovered to be that of Sabaco, who reigned in Egypt at the end of the
seventh century before Christ, the exact time at which Sennacherib came
to the throne. The signets of the two kings were most probably attached
to a treaty. Iron picks and saws, a large number of bronze articles,
pearl and ivory ornaments, part of an ivory staff, believed to have
been a sceptre, and many other curious remains of ancient art, were
discovered in the various chambers of this gorgeous palace.
During the removal of some sculptures, Mr. Layard had an opportunity
of visiting some remarkable remains near the village of Bavian. They
were bas-reliefs, cut in the rock, representing warlike events. One
of the tablets contained a horseman at full speed, and the remains
of other figures. Both horse and rider were of colossal proportions,
and wonderful for their spirit and outline. The warrior, who wore the
Assyrian armor, was in the act of charging the enemy. Before him was a
colossal figure of the king, and behind him a deity with a horned cap.
Above his head was a row of smaller figures of gods standing on animals
of various forms. The inscriptions upon these rock-sculptures show that
they were designed to commemorate the triumphant return of Sennacherib
from his expedition against Babylon. Beneath the sculptured tablets,
and in the bed of the Gomel, were seen two enormous fragments of rock,
which appeared to have been torn from the overhanging cliff. They still
bore the remains of ancient sculpture. On them was represented the
Assyrian Hercules strangling the lion, between two winged, human-headed
bulls, back to back, as at the grand entrances of the palaces of
Konyunjik and Khorsobad. Above this group was the king, worshipping
between two deities, who stood on mythic animals, having the heads of
eagles, the bodies and forefeet of lions, and hind legs armed with the
talons of a bird of prey.
[Illustration: BAS-RELIEF FROM BAVIAN.]
Remains and foundations of buildings in well-hewn stones were
discovered under the thick mud deposited by the Gomel when swollen by
rains. A series of basins cut in the rock, and descending in steps to
the stream, were discovered by excavation. The water had originally
been led from one to the other by small conduits, the lowest of
which was ornamented at its mouth by two rampant lions in relief.
Mr. Layard restored this fountain as it had been in the time of the
Assyrians. From the nature and number of the monuments at Bavian, the
explorer inferred that it had been a sacred spot, devoted to religious
ceremonies and national sacrifices. The remains of a causeway, from
Nineveh to Bavian, were traced upon the plain.
[Illustration: FOUNTAIN AT BAVIAN.]
(Concluded next month.)
A STORY OF VALENTINE'S DAY.
BY MRS. ABDY.
Two young girls were seated in the drawing-room of a handsome house in
the neighborhood of Belgrave Square, engaged in earnest conversation.
Of them it might truly be said, in the words of Lord Byron, that
"Both were young, and one was beautiful."
Nature had been a lavish benefactress to the one, and a churlish
niggard to the other; and Fortune had followed in her sister's wake,
and shown just as great an amount of partiality in the distribution
of her favors. Philippa Roxby and Janet Penson were the wards of Mr.
Chetwode, a good-natured, warm-hearted man, who, having no wife,
child, or sister of his own, was expected by the little world of his
acquaintance to take unlimited interest in the wives, children, and
sisters of other people, and to perform unlimited services in their
behalf. About a year had elapsed since the death of two of his friends
within a few weeks of each other; the wealthy widower, Mr. Roxby,
and the narrowly-jointured widow, Mrs. Penson, conferred on him the
somewhat startling responsibility of becoming guardian to two girls of
the respective ages of eighteen and nineteen.
Philippa Roxby was "a lass wi' golden dower and golden hair," beautiful
enough to inspire a poet or painter, and rich enough to satisfy the
calculations of the most scheming of heiress-hunters. Janet Penson
was remarkably plain; in fact, it would have been somewhat difficult,
in this age of bright eyes, luxuriant tresses, and graceful forms,
to find any one so, thoroughly destitute of attraction. Her features
were irregular; her pale cheek and heavy eye indicated the want of
that health which, when combined with youth and cheerfulness, may be
said to offer a tolerable substitute for beauty; and worse than all,
Janet was palpably deformed, beyond the power of Amesbury to remedy, or
of Mrs. Geary to conceal. Perhaps some of my readers will think that
the worst still remains to be told, when I add that Janet's fortune
was very small; two-thirds of the income of Mrs. Penson expired with
her, and a hundred a year was all that remained for the provision of
the orphan. Mr. Chetwode, however, was as kind and feeling a man as
the most enthusiastic of his friends believed him to be. He made no
distinction in his manner between the lovely heiress and her less
fortunate companion; the comforts of his house, his carriage, his
attentive servants, his pleasant circle of visitors, extended alike
to each; but how different were their thoughts and feelings! The one
looked at society through a Claude Lorraine glass, the other through a
screen of dark crape. Janet, although all immediately connected with
her were kind and considerate, had often the trial of encountering,
in mixed company, the look of ridicule and the whisper of scorn; she
pined for the fond and dear mother by whom she was so tenderly beloved,
notwithstanding her personal deficiencies; nor could she, like most
young women, suffering under a similar loss, anticipate the time when
she should become the object of a still more precious and valuable
love; she felt, bitterly felt, that the delight of a calm home, the
language of loving eyes, the homage of a true heart--all must be ever
withheld from her; and could she only have possessed "the fortune of
a face," there was no possible amount of poverty and hardship which
she would not have gladly welcomed as its accompaniment. She was,
however, agreeably surprised in the character and manners of her
constant associate, Philippa Roxby; she had pictured her as scornful
and repelling, and found her unassuming and kind-hearted. I am of
opinion that people in general treat heiresses with a great deal of
injustice; dramatists and novelists are especially fond of showing them
up in an unamiable light; but, so far as my knowledge of them goes, it
is greatly in their favor. Philippa Roxby (and I am disposed to think
she was a tolerably fair specimen of the generality of heiresses) was
pleasing and unaffected in her manners, and remarkably simple in her
tastes. Accustomed from childhood to an elegantly supplied table, she
felt an indifference to luxuries which can never be known by those who
manufacture their dainties with their own hands, and pay for them from
their own scanty purses; she had never been obliged to economize in
dress, therefore did not, like many young persons, live in a world of
shreds and patches, and pant with perpetual eagerness to unravel the
ever-recurring mystery of the "last new fashion;" all such matters she
wisely left to Fashion's high priestess, the milliner. She drew, sang,
and played well, and perfectly understood French, Italian, and German:
but these acquirements inspired her with no vanity; she felt that,
having had from an early age the most accomplished of governesses, and
the best of masters, it would have been very inexcusable if she had not
profited by their instructions.
Praise be to the first pastrycook who discovered the important fact
that giving novices the unlimited range of the tarts and cakes for a
few days is the certain way to insure their subsequent temperance!
Philippa had enjoyed the sugarplums and confections of society
without restriction, and rated them at their real value. When first
introduced to Janet, she felt considerably disappointed; she had hoped
(for she was incapable of envy) that her companion would have been
still livelier and more attractive than herself; but faithful to her
habit of always looking on the sunny side of a question, she soon
took warm interest in the poor, timid, sorrowful girl who felt such
warm gratitude for her kindness. She cheered her with smiles and kind
words, divided with her the fruits and flowers presented to her by her
suitors, and was even anxious to divide with her their attentions;
for soft looks and flattering speeches were so liberally bestowed on
Philippa, that she did not prize them as those do to whom they are
seldom and sparingly administered. Few men, however, are willing to
be transferred on loan to a young lady of crippled proportions and
stunted fortune; and poor Janet was compelled to sustain a great deal
of rudeness and inattention from the lords of the creation, and indeed
only met with kindness and civility from one of them--the handsome and
intellectual Heathcote, of whom more anon.
I will now return to the point at which my story began. It was the
morning of St. Valentine's Day, that strange, mysterious day, when men
go out of their national character, become tender, sentimental, and
manœuvring, purchase exquisite sheets of paper embellished with wreaths
of flowers, write love verses on them in a studiously neat, prim hand,
seal them with a fanciful device, and drop them into a post-office a
mile or two from their own residence. Philippa was seated at a small
table covered with these little fanciful productions, some of which
were yet unopened; she was laughing in the exuberance of youthful
spirits at the hyperbole contained in one of them.
"And yet, Philippa," said Janet, "I could almost feel disposed to envy
you even for such light-passing tokens of admiration as are now lying
before you; it is hard, in the very spring of youth, to feel one's self
quite slighted and forgotten."
"Dear Janet," said the heiress good-humoredly, "can you really attach
any importance to such a graceful gallantry of society as a valentine?
Depend upon it, the greater number of those who send them do it merely
in observance of the courteous custom of the day, and forget, in the
formal realities of the next morning, the fascinations of the goddess
whom they have so recently deified in poetry, or I should rather say in
rhyme."
"Perhaps it may be so," replied Janet; "but at all events you occupied
the thoughts of these your admirers at the time that they were writing
the verses that you estimate so lightly. I can never hope even for a
moment to awaken a fond and favorable thought; I must pass through life
unnoticed, even in playfulness, unregarded by all; or, still worse,
regarded with pitying scorn."
"Why do you indulge this morbid sensibility, my poor Janet?" said
Philippa. "You will be sure to be valued in time by those who discover
your many and rare excellences. What does the delightful Frederika
Bremer say on this subject? There is in the world so much talent, so
much ingenuity, prudence, wit, genius; but goodness--pure, simple,
divine goodness--where is it to be found?'"
"That is the sentiment of a woman, Philippa," replied Janet; "you would
never find a man capable of so pure and delicate a feeling, not even
our favorite Heathcote; by the way, is Heathcote among your poetical
admirers of to-day?"
"I have not yet met with anything half dignified and sensible enough to
come from such a quarter," said Philippa, scrutinizing, as she spoke,
the varying countenance of her friend. "You speak of Heathcote as our
favorite, Janet; but I am inclined to suspect that he occupies a much
more considerable portion of your thoughts than he does of mine."
Philippa was right in her conjecture; the poor little unsightly Janet
had dared to love the handsome and popular Heathcote, but it was in
silence, in secret, in tears, in humility; not only did she forbear
imparting her love to others, but she scarcely dared to own it even to
herself. The poet says that
"Love will hope where Reason would despair:"
but Janet had so much reason, and despaired so wholly and thoroughly,
that her love was unvisited by a single ray of hope. True, Heathcote
was kind and gentle to her; but so he was to every one. True, he came
frequently to the house; but was that surprising when it was the
residence of one so fair, so charming, so gifted in every respect as
Philippa? Suddenly Philippa uttered an exclamation of delight as she
opened a fresh valentine; a little case was inclosed within it, on the
outside of which was written "Portrait of my beloved." Philippa lifted
the lid, and beheld--her own beautiful features in a looking-glass!
"This must be Heathcote's simple and feeling way of avowing his
passion," said Janet, with a half-suppressed sigh.
"My dear girl," said Philippa, "who ever talks of simple and feeling
ways of avowing a passion in these days of sophistication? and why will
you persist in imagining Heathcote to be my admirer?"
"If he is not now," said Janet, "I think he can hardly fail to be."
"Do not give yourself any uneasiness on that account, Janet," answered
the heiress, half in jest and half in earnest; "if you feel any
preference for Heathcote, I will most cheerfully make over to you
all my right and title to him. I have given away my heart in another
direction, and fancy that I have gained a heart in exchange."
"Of that," said Janet, with a sad smile, "I think there can be little
doubt; but who is the happy man who I conclude has been the donor of
your pretty portrait?"
Janet felt no surprise when her friend mentioned the name of Captain
Warrington, for she knew him to be warmly attached to Philippa; he was
good-looking, good-humored, and agreeable; and although his position in
society and his fortune were both inferior to Mr. Chetwode's ambitious
views for his beautiful ward, Janet foresaw no difficulties in their
wooing, which the perseverance and courage of Philippa, and the good
sense and kindness of her guardian, would not in a short time clear
away. Luncheon was now announced, and Janet felt that she should be
glad when the day was at an end, the recurrence of which was one of
the many ways of bringing to her mind the fact that she was considered
by general consent to stand apart from others of her age and sex, and
that an avowal of love was never destined to reach her eye even in the
masquerade trappings of a valentine.
A few hours afterwards Janet was quietly reading in her chamber, when
a letter was brought to her. In these days of cheap postage, when
letters descend in a shower on most of us, and in an avalanche on many,
it may seem strange to say that merely receiving a letter could be
anything but a very commonplace event. Poor Janet, however, had passed
her blighted youth in the strictest seclusion, and the half-dozen
friends who had known her mother in the retired country place where
she vegetated, wrote to her at distant intervals, and the handwriting
of each of them was so familiar to her eye, that she was certain her
present correspondent was not among them.
Janet had no young friends, no admirers, no debts, no duns; she was
poor, and the begging-letter writers spared her; she had never worked
for fancy fairs, nor written for albums, nor subscribed to public
charities; it was not in her power to confer a favor on anybody, and
people thus situated escape a vast influx of correspondence. The letter
had been posted in a neighboring street; the direction was written in
an evidently feigned hand, and the seal bore the simple impression of a
flower. Janet opened it with a kind of vague feeling that some mystery
clung about it. Little did she dream of the good fortune that awaited
her. The inclosed sheet of paper was a valentine! It boasted of no
flowers, cupids, hearts, or darts; it was superscribed "A Valentine to
be read when the others are forgotten."
Delightful phrase! not only was she deemed worthy of receiving a
valentine, but the writer evidently considered that she had received
others! The charm, however, of this valentine did not consist in the
heading, nor even in the love-breathing stanzas that followed; but in
the handwriting. It was unquestionably, unmistakably, the handwriting
of Heathcote! There was a peculiarity in the formation of the letters
that Janet had more than once remarked to Philippa, when he had written
notes on some trifling subject to their guardian or themselves. There
was no attempt to disguise the hand--no attempt to disguise the
feelings. These were the words that electrified poor Janet, or perhaps
I should say "mesmerized" her; for she certainly seemed translated to
a very different kind of existence from that of the everyday world,
dull and vexatious occasionally to all of us, but invariably dull and
vexatious to her.
St. Valentine returns--the pleasant time
Of opening verdure and of singing birds
Noted for mystic fantasies in rhyme,
Where gay devices, mingled with soft words,
To many a blushing ladye-love impart
The feelings of her timid lover's heart.
Beneath St. Valentine's protecting shroud,
Lady, I dare thy favor to beseech;
I am at once too humble and too proud
To woo thee in a fluent form of speech;
Methinks my trembling spirit could not brook
Thy cold rejoinder, or thy grave rebuke.
Therefore, my deep and never-changing love
Pours forth its ardor in this veiled disguise;
Shouldst thou my passion scorn or disapprove,
Meet me with distant look and frigid eyes;
I will abide by that denial mute,
As though the voice of worlds forbade my suit.
But if thy heart of kindred love should tell,
Let warm inspiring smiles thy thoughts express;
Then shall this scroll have done its bidding well,
And my freed tongue shall joyously confess
How first I strove to win thy faith to mine,
In the quaint fashion of St. Valentine!
Janet felt much as Cinderella may be supposed to have done when her
fairy godmother converted her ragged attire into a splendid gala-dress.
Life in a moment seemed changed to her view; all misanthropic fancies,
all gloomy forebodings took flight; she was ready to exclaim, in the
words of the song,
"This world is a beautiful world after all!"
Away with all feelings of jealous longing to share the advantages of
other women! With whom would she now change? Had she not, misshapen
and unlovely as she was, achieved the conquest of one who had long
appeared, in her eyes, as the most perfect of human beings? How often
had she fondly wished to possess the beautiful features and graceful
form of Philippa, and yet Philippa had merely won the homage of gay,
fashionable triflers, while she had received a declaration of affection
from one so dear to her, that if she had been endowed with the most
brilliant loveliness, and the most lavish wealth, she would have
wished, like Portia, to be for his sake
"A thousand times more fair--ten thousand times more rich!"
These raptures may appear to our readers rather beyond what can be
justified by the receipt of a valentine; but be it remembered that
it was not in the style of a common valentine, that Heathcote was
not a common character, and that poor Janet had never received even
the slightest token of admiration before that eventful fourteenth of
February. Martin Farquhar Tupper says, in his "Proverbial Philosophy,"
"It is a holy thirst to long for Love's requital;
Hard it will be, hard and sad, to love and be unloved;
And many a thorn is thrust into the side of one that is forgotten."