In the last wreck of Nature, dark and dread, Shall in eclipse's hideous hieroglyph, One wild form reel on the last rocking cliff, And shout, 'The daisy has a ring of red.'

As I write, the announcement comes that Professor Sayce has at last discovered the secret of the Hittite hieroglyphs, and we may hope that very soon it will be possible to read them.

The lines in which holiest passion, subtilest thought, divinest activity have recorded in the face their existence and presence, are hieroglyphs unintelligible to one who has not kindled with that passion, been rapt in that thought, or swept away in sympathy with that activity; he may follow the lines, but must certainly miss their meaning.