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purpose, a cylinder recording the achieve-acts; campaigns against nations bearing ments of Tiglath-pileser,* was exceedingly names mostly analogous to those known well suited for a comparison of this de- from the sacred writings, and from other scription, as it treats of various matters, ancient authorities; temples to deities changing abruptly from one to the other, with appellations bearing the same resemand abounds in proper names, and state- blance to those found in other quarters. ments of specific facts. There was a constant recurrence of these words, names, and titles, yet a sufficient variety of words to test, to a certain degree, the extent of the knowledge claimed by the translators of the sound of the words, and of the language to which the words are supposed to belong. As a specimen of the inscription, and a fair average sample of the general concurrence existing among the four translations, the following versions of the same passage, with the names of the translators, may not be altogether devoid of interest to the reader:

Upon the receipt of this communication, the council of the Society resolved that immediate measures should be taken to carry into effect the comparison suggested by Mr. Talbot, but on a more extended scale. With this view, it was determined to request Sir Henry Rawlinson, Dr. Hincks, and Dr. Oppert to favor the Society with translations of the same inscription, to be sent, like Mr. Talbot's, under a sealed cover, so that all four might be simultaneously opened, and compared by a committee appointed for the purpose, Application having been made to the above-named gentlemen, and they having heartily responded to the views of the Society, a committee consisting of the Dean of St. Paul's, Dr. Whewell, Sir Gardner Wilkinson, Mr. Grote, Mr. Cureton, and Professor H. H. Wilson than whom none better adapted could have been chosen-were requested to examine, and compare the four versions of the same inscription made by four different persons, in distant places, without mutual communication; and to determine how far these versions agreed in their general sense, and in the specific meanings assigned to the words.

The four translations having been forwarded to the Society, and carefully examined by the committee, the latter, having strictly compared them, certified "that the coïncidences between the translations, both as to the general sense and verbal rendering, were very remarkable." In most parts, they found "a strong correspondence in the meaning assigned, and occasionally a curious identity of expression as to particular words. Where the versions differed very materially, each translator had, in many cases, marked the passage as one of doubtful or unascertained signification. In the interpretation of numbers, there was throughout a singular correspondence."

By all the translators, the inscription was understood to relate to King Tiglathpileser, to his campaigns, building and consecration of temples, and other royal

* Kings, 15: 29; 16: 7, 10.

Rawlinson. Then I went on to the country of Comukha, which was disobedient and withheld the tribute and offerings due to Ashur my lord; I conquered the whole country of Comukha. I plundered their movables, their wealth, and their valuables. Their cities I burned with fire, I destroyed and ruined.

Talbot. I then advanced against Kummikhi, a land of the unbelievers who had refused to pay taxes and tribute unto Ashur, my lord. The land of Kummikhi throughout all its extent I ravaged. Their women, etc., I carried off. Their cities I burned with fire, destroyed and overthrew.

Hincks.-At that time I went to a disaffected part of Qummukh, which had withheld the tribute by weight and tale belonging to Assur, my lord. I subdued the land of Qummukh as far as it extended. I brought out their women, their slaves, and their cattle; their towns I burned with fire, threw down, and dug up.

Oppert.-In these days I went to the people of Dummukh, the enemy who owed tributes and gifts to the god Assur, my lord. I subdued the people of Dummukh for its punishment (?). I took away their captives, their herds, and their treasures; their cities I burnt in fire; I destroyed, I undermined them.

The mere verbal expression of the purport of the above versions is certainly as close as could reasonably be expected from four different translations of any modern language. In some instances, however, the translators admitted that certain passages were obscure, and, indeed,

the values of several common Assyrian words still remain to be established. Thus, where Pileser records his hunting exploits, Rawlinson makes the game "wild buffaloes;" Hincks, "wild elephants;" while Talbot not venturing a translation, retains the original word, "amsi." But in the general sense of killing or taking alive wild animals of some kind or other, they are all agreed. In a dead language, and more especially in one like the Assyrian, where symbolic signs are frequently used instead of phonetic letters, it is only natural to suppose that some words and names of persons, animals, or objects would be uncertain. Still, the occasional differences among the four translators, in the mode of interpreting certain words and sentences, may be accepted as a guarantee-if such were required of the complete fairness of the undertaking, particularly when we find that those differences are uniform; the words or sentences so varying, having the same meaning assigned to them wherever they occur. A fair example of agreement and disagreement will be found in the following several translations of the closing paragraphs of the inscription, in which imprecations are denounced upon any future monarchs who may in any way deface the stone-engraven records of the mighty Tiglath:

Rawlinson. Whoever shall injure my tablets and cylinders, or shall moisten them with water, or scorch them with fire, or expose them to the air, or in the holy place of God shall assign them a position where they can not be seen or understood, or who shall erase the writing and inscribe his own name, or who shall divide the sculptures, (?) and break them off from my tablets, Anu and Vul, the great gods my lords, let them consign his name to perdition; let them curse him with irrevocable curse; let them cause his sove reignty to perish; let them pluck out the stability of the throne of his empire.

Talbot.-But he who my stone tablets and my memorial records shall injure, or shall destroy them: with water shall efface them or with fire shall consume them: or shall deface the writings: or shall write his name (instead of mine): or shall cut away the emblems: or who shall break in pieces the face of my tablets: May Anu and Yen, the great gods, my lords, utterly confound him; may their curses fall upon him; may they sweep away his kingly power; may his enemies carry off his royal throne.

VOL. XLIV.-NO. II.

Hincks.-He who shall hide or obliterate my tablets and my floors shall wander on the waters, shall be suspended in the fires, shall be besmeared with earth, shall be assigned by adjudication an unpleasant place in the excellent house on high. He shall survive few years, and shall write his name where some enemy shall speedily deface it, and shall have it (that is, the tablet containing it) broken against my tablets! May Anu and Iv, the great gods, my lords, energetically punish him! and may they curse him with a destroying curse! May they depress his kingdom! may they remove the throne of his dominion.

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Oppert. He who hides or defaces my tablets, and my angular stones, who throws them into the water, who burns them with fire, who spreads them to the winds, who transports them to the house of death, to a place without life, who steals the cylinders, (?) who engraves on them his name, and. who injures my tablets: May Anu and Ao, the great gods, my lords, load his name with infamy; may they curse him with the worst imprecations! May they subdue his sister; may they deport the districts of his kingdom.

...

Upon the whole, the result of this very curious experiment than which a fairer test could not, in all probability, be devised-may be considered as establishing, almost definitely, the correctness of the valuation of the characters of the Assyrian cuneiform inscriptions; and though it be quite possible that further researches may find something to alter or to add, still the greater portion, if not the whole of those remarkable records, may now be read with entire confidence. The almost invariable concurrence of the translators in the general sense, proves that they are agreed to give the same interpretation to the greater portion of the vocabulary. At the same time, the differences show that a good deal remains to be effected ere the sense of every individual term can be confidently rendered. Where so much, however, has been accomplished in so short a period, and under such extraordinary difficulties, there surely is every reason to hope that the remaining uncertainties will ultimately and speedily be overcome. At all events, the ancient Assyrian language, with its grotesque, arrow-headed character, so inexplicable but a few years past, is, at the present time, nothing more than an unraveled mystery.

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From Colburn's New Monthly.

HANS ERNST MITTER KAM P.

AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY IN THE YEARS 1775-1813.

I.

LONG AGO.

DEARLY do I love Weimar, our German Athens! For there I was born. In that light green-colored house, with high peaked slanting roof, situated near the Stadtkirche, and only a few doors from the house in which Herder used to live, an infant was ushered into the world on the 7th of November, 1775, and its arrival caused, perhaps, greater expectations in the narrow family circle than did that of the great Goethe, who this same day entered Weimar on the invitation of our prince, Karl August. Many times have I seen my mother turn to me with hope and pride, as she said to some neighbor: "My boy Hans was born under very lucky auspices, for he first saw the light on the day that the poet Goethe arrived in Wei

mar."

Even now, when I look back to those early days, something of the awe with which I always regarded this circumstance of my birth creeps over me, and I recall, with a smile, the dreams of future greatness with which I used to flatter my vanity as a boy. Neither I nor my parents ever for a moment considered how many other children must have been born on this same 7th of November, and that it was very improbable it should bring luck to all. We did not look beyond our own circle; it was our world, and in it, I, Hans Ernst Mitterkamp, was the only child favored by so marked a birthday. I say marked, because with Goethe came the brightest star of all those who had clustered round the little court of Saxe Weimar, and the lustre of his genius will never cease to reflect credit on his patron, the Grand Duke.

My father had a small independence, on which we lived. He was a man of studious and contented mind, with no

ambition to rise from the grade of society in which he had been born. He did not like children, and all my early recollections of him are connected with fear. It was my father who punished me, who bid me take a book and read; if I made too much noise, it was he who often turned me out of the room, or told me to hold my tongue. He taught me my lessons, would never excuse a fault, and was rigid in his discipline. No wonder, then, that I should look upon him as a taskmaster, one to be feared, and that I should place all the affection of which my young heart was capable on my indulgent, loving mother. I can remember a kind face, with large, anxious eyes looking at me as she laid me to sleep at night; I can see her slight form sitting by the window in the dusk of evening, and I fancy I hear her sweet voice singing to soothe me; for I was a very excitable, nervous child, and I would not go to sleep at night without some one near me; even then I was subject to alarms and strange visions.

One of these last is firmly graven on my mind, and as it stands out vividly from the unconnected mass of early recollections, I will here narrate it.

I was five years old. My mother had left me asleep, but she had scarcely quitted the room when I was roused by loud voices talking in the street below my window; I called out to my mother, but she was not with me, and, perceiving I was quite alone, fear took entire possession of me, and I trembled all over. The noises in the street had ceased, the room was silent, and so dark, that, though I strained my eyes, I could not distinguish any thing. Suddenly a stream of white light shone in from the window. I sat up and gazed at it fixedly; it grew larger and larger, till it seemed to fill the room. I saw faces peering at me out of the dark corners, and the whole lesson of poetry I had learnt the day before was written in flaring let

ters on the wall; a strange hissing voice seemed to say in my ear: "Learn it again." I tried to read the words, but could not, and I fancied I saw my father looking at me, and threatening to punish me if I did not; then a loud hoarse laugh rang through the room. It was a real laugh, and in a paroxysm of fear I jumped from the bed and rushed to my mother's side, who was sitting with my father in the room below. I wept myself quiet in her sheltering arms, but, in spite of her caresses and endearments, I heard my father

say:

"Nonsense, nonsense! Pity the child was not born a foolish girl. He'll never make a man."

"Hans is so young yet, Robert," my mother pleaded. "These alarms will wear off in time.”

Her words came true in the end, but I suffered from them for a long while, and dreaded night as my greatest enemy. In February of this year my sister Veronica was born; I regarded her appearance as an intrusion, and was far from being content to share my mother's affection; but what can not be helped must be endured, and I first got used to the screaming baby, and then began to grow attached to it. The serving-girl, who acted as nurse, often insisted that Master Hans was a spiteful boy, and that she dared not leave the baby a moment for fear he should pinch it. I hope this was a libel on my character, but I have no doubt I was very disagreeable.

chains hung across the streets to prevent disturbance to the worshipers within. I do not know why I took pleasure in seeing this done; perhaps it was the clanking sound the chain made; but my mother was always ready to indulge my fancy.

On the bench before us Ida sat with her father and mother, and as the service was long, we children often grew very tired and fidgety, striving to amuse ourselves in any way we could. One day I had been yawning very frequently, and this attracted Ida's attention. She looked round wistfully at me; I made faces, and frowned in return; nothing daunted, she smiled; this I thought very encouraging, and I began to make greater advances by kicking her feet gently, and then, when our parents were not watching us, a whispered conversation began, which was carried on Sunday after Sunday. Ida and I met in our walks; our nurses were friends. We used to walk hand in hand, and a deep attachment grew up between us, which was destined to ripen into a more lasting affection in after years. Our parents became acquainted with each other, and Ida and I were almost constant companions, till Veronica grew older and carried her away from me.

A very memorable day at this early period of my life comes before me, and one that I long remembered; for it was the first and only time I spoke with the poet Goethe. My mother was out walking with me and my little sister; the air was cold; They told me I had once another little for it was a frosty morning in spring, and sister before Veronica was born, but II ran forward to keep myself warm. We was very young, and did not remember were outside the town, and the clear road her, though when I was reminded, I could lay before me, so away I scampered, glad just recollect my mother carrying me into to find myself free to do as I liked. Well her bedroom, and pointing out a little do I remember the delight of hearing the white head on the pillow, and saying noise of my own feet echoed back from something about "Poor little sister." I the bank which rose abruptly beside the leaned curiously forward, and asked if she road. I stamped and capered to make a were asleep. Yes, asleep with the an- variation in the cadence, and was so engels," my mother said. And this was the grossed with my occupation that I did first time I ever witnessed death, the sight not perceive a gentleman was approachof which was afterwards to become so fa- ing me. miliar to me.

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My only companion as a child was Ida Hannemann, a little girl who lived near us, and as our acquaintance began in a somewhat peculiar manner, I must not omit it. Regularly every Sunday I accompanied my mother to church, and I used to make her stand at the entrance till service began, that I might see the

I ran against him, for children were never yet known to guide themselves with propriety. Half shy, half frightened by the sudden stop put to my movements, I uttered a soft "Pardon, sir," and glanced timidly into his face. I shall never forget the kind smile which greeted me, and the large brown eyes that seemed to speak as he fixed them on my upturned face.

"Take better care of yourself, my young friend," said he, and patted my head encouragingly. I blushed crimson, and my heart beat fast with fear, yet I felt that I could love, that tall, handsome stranger; he passed on, however, and though I gazed after him, and have always remembered this little incident, he did not turn to look at me again, and forgot the little child directly. When my mother joined me, (which she soon did, for I did not run any farther,) she said: "Hans, my fine boy, you have been highly honored; that gentleman who spoke to you is the Herr Geheimrath Goethe."

Every morning, before my father came down stairs, my mother used to read some part of the Bible aloud to me, and when I was old enough, and could read myself, she used, as a treat, to let me have the holy book in my own hand, that I might read out of it whilst she was busy with her household duties. My favorite chapter was the twenty-second of the first of Kings, and I would read Micah's speeches over and over again; indeed, it was his character alone which made me fond of that particular chapter.

When I was older, Ecclesiastes was my favorite part of the Old Testament; there was something vailed and mysterious in the language which struck me, and the opening words, "Vanity of vanities; all is vanity," touched some morbid feeling in my heart, and made me ponder on life in a very different way to what children generally do. The world was not a sugarcandy world to me; it was a sad reality, not a dream of sunshine.

Our drawing-room, which looked into the street, was sacred from my invasion; I was on my best feast-day behavior when admitted, and this only occurred when some distinguished visitor asked to see Hans. One day my aunt, the Countess von P, who had but just arrived in Weimar, came to see us. We had been expecting her for many days, and as she was considered the grand lady of the family, (for her husband had an appointment at court,) my mother was anxious to receive her in the best style possible for my father's credit. I had never seen my aunt, and I well remember the long operation of putting on my best coat, and the brushing and polishing of my hair, which I very reluctantly had to undergo. Then I and my sister were led down stairs into the drawing-room. I was very shy, and

although Veronica trotted fearlessly up to my aunt, I, a boy of seven, crept behind my mother's chair, and peeped at what was going forward. Wine and delicious cakes, which made my mouth water, were presented to the visitor; I wondered at her refusing them and drinking the wine. How I started when, in setting the glass down, she upset a little china figure on the middle table-that precious table which I never dared approach, it was so covered with delicate ornaments. I looked aghast into my mother's face when I heard the crash of the falling figure, but, to my astonishment, she only smiled, and said it was of no consequence, bidding me, at the same time, pick up the maimed shepherd.

"So this is little Hans," my aunt said, on seeing me emerge from my hidingplace. Come here and speak to your aunt. I see a great likeness to the Mitterkamps; he has his grandfather's eye."

Greatly amazed at being thus noticed, I hung my head and blushed; but she spoke so kindly to me that she gave me confidence, and, before long, I forgot my aunt was a strange lady.

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What is Hans famous for ?" asked she, addressing my mother.

"I fear he is not famous for any thing," was the reply.

"I am sure he must be; all the Mitterkamps were clever. What do you like best, my child ?"

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Music," I replied, without a moment's thought; and I gazed straight into her handsome face.

"That is right. And can you play the piano?" asked she, looking at the one standing against the wall. "Very little."

"Go and play me a tune on it, will you?"

I turned to my mother for an excuse, but she seconded the proposal, and I was forced to play all the little tunes I could remember. When I left off, my aunt kissed me, and said I had a decided talent, and might make quite a second youthful Mozart.

"And now," continued she, "I have a request to make: will you let Hans come and spend a few days with me?"

My mother hesitated.

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Nay," continued my aunt, "I will not take a refusal. I have a treat in store for him. Goethe's operetta, 'Die Fischerin,' is to be performed at Tiefurt, and I promise to take Hans with me."

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