If, in conclusion, we turn to the contemplation of man in the city, we shall observe the arts at their greatest elevation. It is worthy of remark that the valleys of the Tigris and Euphrates, and also of the Nile, as well as of Syria, from the sea-coast eastward to the great desert that parts it from Mesopotamia, were occupied by highly-civilized nations, clothed in fabrics of cotton, linen, and wool; while the grassy, treeless plains, extending from the Arab sea westward, as far as the mouths of the Danube, and along the northern borders of the Caspian and Euxine seas, and the intervening chain of the Caucasus, were traversed by independent tribes, clothed in skins and furs. Commercial intercourse and visits took place, as well as hostile excursions, and thus the manufactures of Babylonia were exchanged for the native productions of the Scythian plains and of the interminable forests on their northern boundary.

The Jews seem to have been precluded by the Mosaic law from the preparation and use of fur; and the Greeks and Romans considered the skins of animals badges of rusticity and barbarism; but the finer kinds of fur were known and esteemed by the nobles of Babylon. Ælian, who wrote about the year 110, states that a certain species of mice are found in the district of Teredon, in Babylonia, the soft skins of which are taken to Persia, where they are sewn together into garments remarkable for their warmth.

Of the use of fur both among civilized and barbarous people there are many traces. Thus we have notices of the employment of the skins of sables, ermine, and squirrels, with various contrivances to produce a variegated surface. The practice is supposed to be of Oriental origin, and the tent of Sapor to supply the earliest instance of this parti-colored arrangement. Tacitus, however, describes the same fashion of variegating furs to have been in use among the German tribes at a still earlier period.

The costume of the people who live in cities attains to the highest elegance, splendor, and gorgeousness of which it is capable. Here we discover all that properly belongs to rank, with the means of appeasing an insatiable vanity. Oriental women, in every age, have been distinguished by a passion for dress, personal decoration constituting one of the chief occupations and pleasures of their life. Variety becomes, therefore, an element of delight as well as splendor. But rare and costly garments are also highly prized by the other sex, who frequently regard an immense wardrobe as indicative of rank and taste.

“Solomon made for himself a chariot of the wood of Lebanon. He made the pillars thereof of silver, the bottom thereof of gold, and the covering of it of purple;” and the city is traversed by the varied equipages of an opulent people, in which many of the arts are clearly discernible. War-chariots, observable among other nations, were not to be seen among the forces of the Hebrews, whose great men used them chiefly for purposes of state.

Even the tents in which the modern princes of the East often spend the season of summer are arrayed in beauty and magnificence, of which such a fabric might scarcely be deemed susceptible. One belonging to a late king of Persia is said to have cost two millions of money. It was called “the house of gold,” because it was everywhere resplendent with the precious metal. An inscription on the cornice or the antechamber described it as “the throne of the second Solomon.”

The Dewan Khass of the far-famed Shah Allun is a building situated at the upper end of a spacious square, elevated upon a terrace of marble. In former times it was adorned with excessive magnificence. It is about a hundred and fifty feet in length, and forty in breadth. The flat roof is supported by numerous columns of fine white marble, which have been richly ornamented with inlaid flowered work of different colored stones, the cornices and borders having been decorated with a frieze and sculptured work. Formerly the ceiling was encrusted, throughout its whole extent, with a rich foliage of silver. The compartments of the walls were inlaid with the greatest delicacy. Around the exterior of the cornice are the following lines, written in letters of gold, on a ground of white marble—“If there be a paradise upon earth, it is this, it is this.”

In some Oriental edifices, the lower part of the walls is adorned with rich hangings or damask, tinged with the liveliest colors, and investing the apartments “with purpureal gleams.” In the royal garden at Shushan there were “white, green, and blue hangings, fastened with cords of fine linen and purple to silver rings and pillars of marble.” Ingenious devices, as wreaths and festoons in stucco and fretwork, are the ornaments of the upper part of the walls. In the days of Jeremiah, we read of apartments “ceiled with cedar and painted with vermilion;” and since then, costly and fragrant wood, on which exquisite decorations in colors and gold are displayed, have been frequently employed. Painted tiles or slabs of the finest marble have formed the floors, reminding us of the palace of Ahasuerus, where “the beds,” or couches “were of gold and silver, upon a pavement of red and blue, and white and black marble;” and all the furniture of the house was in full accordance with the imperial state of the sovereign.

Some of the edifices of the East are thus associated in our minds with the greatest splendor and magnificence. The choicest marble, granite and porphyry form their walls, columns, and floors; silver and gold supply some of their decorations, while others are adorned with the costliest gems. The effect of light falling on such resplendent materials is indescribably dazzling and imposing. The allusions to such buildings in the prophecies of Isaiah, and the Revelation of “the beloved disciple,” will at once occur to those who are familiar with the Scriptures.

The remains of the departed greatness of Egypt, which the congeniality of its climate has contributed so remarkably to perpetuate, consist generally of places for civil assemblies and religious ceremonies. In Upper or Southern Egypt, the site of almost every memorable city is marked by the ruins of a temple, or palace-temple, which was appropriated to both these purposes. The visitor cannot fail to be struck by the vastness of the edifice, or the solemn air by which its ruins are pervaded. The walls bear upon them the records of the past. Covered with reliefs, which are generally colored, the idols appear receiving the homage of the sovereign who founded the structure, together with the battles, sieges, and other events of the wars, out of the spoils of which the majestic pile was reared. Sometimes the king is portrayed returning as a conqueror in triumph, and dragging a long series of captives of different nations to the feet of the presiding divinity. These pictures frequently cover a large extent of surface, and are crowded with figures in action, executed with great spirit and fidelity; the peculiar features and color of the different people being strictly preserved. Explanatory inscriptions in the hieroglyphics of Egypt accompany these reliefs. Some of these halls are six hundred feet both in length and breadth, and are crowded throughout their entire area with massive columns of majestic height. On first surveying the immense cavern temple at Ipsambul, in Nubia, the spectator might well imagine, from the whiteness of its walls, the sharpness of its figures, their brilliant hues, and especially from the parts where the tracings and first outlines appear, showing that this stupendous edifice was never completed, that the artists had only just left their work. But as his eye falls on the deep, black dust, covering the rocky floor on which he treads, into which have mouldered the doors, the door-posts, and all the inner fittings of the temple, he feels that ages have rolled away since the artisans were numbered among the dead.

The art of design, whether apparent in painting or sculpture, was used in Egypt, as must already have appeared, not to excite the imagination, but to inform the understanding. According to Clement of Alexandria, an Egyptian temple was “a writing,” addressing itself, like a volume, to the mind. Accordingly, their artists imitated nature only so far as to convey the intended idea clearly and precisely; generally they did not aim at beauty and grace. When, however, they wished to give a portrait of any particular individual, we find so exact a representation that the features of several of the Pharaohs may be easily recognized. But it is evident that they were ignorant of perspective, and that they did not feel the necessity of studying light and shade in the use of colors. Analogous to the practice of the Egyptians is that of the Chinese, in reference to the rooms of their dwellings, in our own day; for they are adorned with pictorial characters, conveying wise sayings and moral precepts; combining in the person of one artist the work of the scribe, the painter, and the engraver.

Recent discoveries enable us to call up before the mind Nineveh, that “exceeding great city,” where the arts of life attained their utmost elevation. Passing a ponderous and richly-sculptured gate, we see, at certain distances within the walls, other gates flanked by towers adorned by sculptures, or gigantic figures, as winged bulls or lions. Lofty pyramidal structures arise, which served as watch-towers. Tents, often visible within the walls of Oriental cities, occupy open spaces. Other spaces, without the great public edifices, are covered by private houses, standing in the midst of gardens, and built at a distance from each other, or forming streets, which inclose gardens and even arable land, and stretch out to a vast extent.

Distinguished from all other residences is a palatial edifice: its doorways are formed by gigantic winged lions or bulls, or by figures of guardian deities, and lead into apartments which again open into more distant halls. The pavement of these rooms is of sunburnt bricks, or alabaster slabs, of a color agreeable to the eye; and the ceilings are divided into square compartments, inlaid with ivory, adorned with gold, and richly painted with flowers. The tables, seats, and couches are made of metal and wood, some being inlaid with ivory; the legs of the chairs are tastefully carved, and terminate in the feet of a lion or the hoofs of a bull, made of gold, silver, or bronze.

In the walls of the chambers, as in those of the hall, are alabaster slabs, used as panels, with various scenes depicted upon them, and painted in gorgeous colors. Here appears the colossal figure of a king, in the act of adoring his chief divinity, or of receiving from his eunuch the holy cup; the robes of the sovereign and his attendants being painted with brilliant colors, and adorned with groups of animals, figures and flowers. There is a scene of a different character: the king, attended by his eunuchs and warriors, is entering into alliance with other monarchs, or receiving the homage of his captives. And beneath this range there is still a different spectacle: the siege—the battle—the triumph, are all sculptured by the artist’s hand, and decorated with rich and glowing tints, while under each picture are engraved in characters filled up with bright copper, the descriptions of the various objects that are portrayed.

But as we survey building after building, the vast city teems with life. Myriads of rational and intelligent beings occupy its habitations and crowd its streets. Here are the architects, of consummate skill and taste—the builders who can rear edifices of the loftiest proportions and of real grandeur—the sculptors, who cannot only decorate with exquisite ability, but chronicle to coming ages events of the highest interest in the annals of Assyria—and the painters, who array their productions with the liveliest and brightest hues. Here, too, are the artisans, who work with ingenuity, taste, and skill, in wood, silver, copper, gold, lead, ivory, and glass—supplying the costume of the people, the furniture of their houses, their chariots, and missiles of war, and all that is required for the comfort, indulgence, luxury, defense, and enterprise of Nineveh’s vast, energetic, and prosperous population.

But imagination only calls up the spectacle.

There is yet, however, one art, to which, in conclusion, a brief reference must be made; it is that by which thought is embodied in written and “winged words.” We look with interest on the historic paintings of the Mexicans, on the hieroglyphics of Egypt, and on the cuneiform characters of Assyria and Persia; but we must not forget the fact, that the people of Israel—to whom we have frequently had occasion to refer throughout this paper—are distinguished from all other nations by the authentic history which they possess of their origin and of the most remarkable events of their subsequent progress, as well as by the predictions that regard their future lot. The most ancient books in the world were written, under Divine inspiration, by the hand of Moses; and Herodotus, “the father of history,” was a contemporary of Malachi, the last of the prophets.

In general literature Egypt attained the earliest pre-eminence. To that country many went athirst for wisdom, while none of its children sought it in other climes. At Thebes was its library of sacred books, over which was the inscription, “The Remedy for the Soul;” while the hieroglyphics above the heads of “Thoth” and “Safk,” as deciphered by Champollion, denote that the one was the “Lady of Letters,” and the other the “President of the Library.” Where, then, are we to look for the origin and early history of the arts associated with letters? Before the time of the patriarch Abraham the Egyptians were furnished with the scroll, or papyrus, and with the pen dipped in ink, with which its characters were inscribed. All the implements required for the process are exhibited in pictures of the remotest date. Even the Arabic numerals are older than any of the pyramids.

Small as is the number of our alphabetic signs, they are proved to be capable of more than six hundred thousand millions of billions of different horizontal arrangements. What a power is thus entrusted to the hand at the dictate of the mind—a power which, whether its range, its variety, or its permanence be considered, is alike unparalleled! When the costliest fabrics are moth-eaten, and the colors of the picture have fled, and the marble statue is defaced, and the proud and towering edifice is hurled into ruins, the written words may live, retaining all their power to strike on the mind, to touch the inmost chords of the soul. “Words,” it has been said, “are the only things that last for ever.” “The images of men’s wits,” says Lord Bacon, “remain unmaimed in books for ever, exempt from the injuries of time, because capable of perpetual renovation. Neither can they properly be called images, because they cast forth seeds in the minds of men, raising and producing infinite actions and opinions in succeeding ages; so that if the invention of a ship was thought so noble and wonderful, which transports riches and merchandise from place to place, and consociates the most distant regions in participation of their fruits and commodities—how much more are letters to be magnified, which, as ships passing through the vast seas of time, connect the remotest ages of wits and inventions in mutual traffic and correspondence!”

To write is therefore the noblest of the arts of life, and fearful is the responsibility of its exercise. Happy is he who constantly remembers it; and whose maturest thoughts, fixed in the palpable and deathless form of words, enlighten, elevate, and bless, even when the verdant grass is flourishing over his ashes.

TO A WHIP-POOR-WILL

SINGING IN A GRAVE-YARD.

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BY E. ANNA LEWIS.

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BY WM. ALBERT SUTLIFFE.

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OR CHAPTERS FROM A LIFE SPENT PARTLY IN CAROLINA.

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BY HENRY HOLM, ESQ.

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(Continued from page 24.)