Within the last decade of years, the museums of France and England have been enriched by numerous monuments of Assyrian art, that clearly show the soil from which they were obtained was peopled by a race who, to its warlike habits, added many of the refinements of civilized life. The researches of Botta and Layard—so far as lapidary tablets are capable of conveying the economy of a nation—hare familiarised us in some measure with the public rites and ceremonies of the Assyrians, as well as given an insight into their more domestic concerns; and the pens of these travellers have further elucidated the subject in a manner of which the praise of the public is guarantee to the ability displayed, while the monuments themselves, as patents of their energy, remain in the capitals of Europe, until, in the course of time, they share in the fate of their Assyrian predecessors. Profoundly indifferent, however, to such an event, our savans are in the mean time labouring to unravel the mystic characters engraved on the records so lately revealed to ua; and such is the progress made, that we may shortly expect to be as cognizant of the deeds of the “stouthearted king and the glory of his high looks,” as we are conversant with the celebrities of Greece or Rome. The only desideratum wanting, it appears, to complete the picture of Assyria, is a faithful sketch of her aspect in desolation, when she is “empty, and void, and waste; when flocks lie down in the midst of her; and when her rivers are opened, and her palace is dissolved.” This we have endeavoured to supply in the three maps of the vestiges of Assyria, made from actual survey of the spot. Topography, however, is a dry subject, and we enter upon it with diffidence and reluctance.