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The Landscape Annual,

"the

THE itinerary of the present year lies in France, or, rather in its loveliest portion, the sunny south. The Illustrations, twenty-six in number, are from the accomplished pencil of Mr. J. D. Harding: among them are Clermont-Ferrand, Royat, Thiers, Mont St. Michael, Montpellier, Nismes, Avignon, Villeneuve, and Lyons. They are accompanied by letter-press of historical and anecdotical details of each district: there are three superb views of Lyons, one of which we have transfered to the annexed page. The few descriptive details of the city are as follow: Nothing can exceed in beauty and variety of aspect, the scenery through which the tourist passes, in approaching this ancient city, once the centre of the Roman conquests in the north. Green plains and sunny hills, clothed with the purple vine,-towns, castles, and convents, stretching in the distance, the village spires glittering through the stately trees,-villas, hamlets, and farms, -with the picturesque region of Mont d'Or, -its sloping hills, and its antique-looking dwellings, mark his progress from the French capital, through the more fertile and luxuriant districts, conducting him towards the land of the south." Approaching the town, general view of Lyons and its cathedral, offers a scene of animation, which has no parallel in any other part of France. The quay is, perhaps, one of the finest in Europe. It is frequented as a promenade by people of all ranks; and, in short, has been termed the Boulevard Italien of Lyons. Another striking feature of the landscape is the superb stone bridge of the Soane, recently constructed near the archiepiscopal palace, and called Le Pont de Tilsitt. The immediate entrance into the city conveys no adequate idea, in the eye of the stranger, of the superior character of many of its edifices. The road into it, which has been formed by the passage of a river, resembles a quarry rather than a street. It continues through a street of houses six or seven stories high, and built against the solid rock." From this gloomy approach, the traveller beholds with singular advantage the numerous bridges of the place, and the opposite banks of the Soane. At length, as he reaches the prison, and the courts of ustice, the continual gloom begins to disappear; and just beyond, he beholds the grand cathedral of St. John. The splendid new bridge of Tilsitt stretches across the river, abutting in a fine square, one of the noblest portions of the city. Crossing Pont St. Vincent, you behold, opposite the cathedral, on the low side of the Soane, the church D'Ainey, forming part of the old town of Lyons. But some of the finest parts of this extraordinary city lie beyond the bridge; and there the great square opens to

view, beautifully embellished with trees, and wearing an antique, cloistered aspect. Here are situated the governor's residence, the post-office, and other official houses. The Place des Tauraux, with the Hotel de Ville, rank next in importance. The Hotel Dieu, founded above 1,200 years ago, by Childebert, was considered one of the most admirable, as well as magnificent, hospitals in Europe. The churches of Lyons have, in general, few claims upon the attention of the stranger; the cathedral, and that of the Chartreux, with St. Nizier, as it appears in the annexed plate, are, however, among the first entitled to his notice. St. Nizier, in particular, is remarkable for having been compared with, and even rivalling, the metropolitan church itself, as well as for its admirable gates, the workmanship of the ingenious Philibert Delorme.

66

During the Revolution, Lyons withstood a siege of two months, without fortifications, and a garrison, against an army of 100,000 men. Such were the subsequent horrors it endured, that it was almost depopulated, and reduced to the utmost verge of wretchedness. While in this desolate condition, the Emperor Napoleon, on his return from Egypt, is recorded to have shed tears over its fate, and expressed the greatest solicitude to relieve its woes. He infused spirit into the disheartened population; gave orders for the reconstruction of public works, in particular of the Place du Belle Cour, and gave permission to the Lyonnais to place his statue in the

square."

Besides furnishing a picturesque view of the church of St. Nizier, the plate conveys a good idea of the street architecture of Lyons.

The Amulet.

[THE same excellent purpose is evident in the literature of The Amulet of this as of former years. The papers take higher aim than merely playing with the passions; and, as respects the prose, there is not a page of unprofitable reading throughout the volume. Our favourites are Ellen Ray, an Irish tale, by Mrs. Hall, written with that intense feel ing which made her Grace Huntley the pearl of last year's Amulet. Ellen Ray is a touching story of sisterly affection: we have not space for its abridgment, but a page or two will induce the reader to obtain the whole. The following is Ellen's success in aiding the escape of her brother condemned for murder.]

A few weeks-long, heavy, and awful weeks-went by, and the faint hopes of pardon, in which the prisoner and his afflicted sister had indulged, grew fainter from day to day. A sad topic engrossed the thoughts and occupied the tongues, of all the serious and all the thoughtless in the town of yet were they not so engrossing as to procure

-;

the postponement of the annual ball, so long looked forward to as a scene of unmixed delight, worth a whole year of labour or seclusion. The ball-room was opposite the jail; and while the sounds of music and revelry pealed through the open casements, two men were occupied in rendering secure the scaffoldon which an execution was to take place with the early morrow. "Twas a sad contrast: the music echoed by the feet of the merry dancers, and interrupted only an occasional burst of song, from some "highly accomplished" minstrel; the heavy sound of the carpenter's hammer, as he pursued his gloomy task, was broken but by some grumbling observation of his companion, who held a dim and dirty lantern, so as to enable him to finish his work before the midnight! And such are life's contrasts;-yet half the world pass on, and heed them not.

Within the prison was the quiet of approaching death. Ellen had asked and received permission to remain in her brother's cell until the latest hour his jailer could allow. No other shared the solitude: no other comforted or advised with the condemned.

"My own, own sister," he said, "a word might have saved me; but you acted according to the spirit of uprightness within your own pure heart, and I blame it not now. I am rejoiced that my boy did not come with you; the remembrance of this horrid place, of his father in such a state, might have remained when I am gone. I have heard say that people think of what happens when they were young-mere infants, in fact when they grow old. Do you remember saving me from drowning in the Lee? I could not have been more than two years old then! Oh, that it had not so been! My sand is run:-pray for me again, Ellen."

"Seven-eight-nine," repeated Ellen Ray, without heeding his request, as the clock chimed the hour. "The jailer has been merciful, and promised to permit me to remain till eleven; but I shall continue longer than that," she added. “Michael, I promised to save you, and I will redeem my pledge.” He raised his dim and hollow eyes. "Listen, Michael: I would before have communicated my plan, which, fraught as it is with danger, will succeed if you are innocent, and put your trust faithfully in the Almighty; but I thought your soul would become purified by calm reflection, and the absence of all hope of earthly pardon. I trust that so it is-and that in a strange land you will not forget the God who permitted to you time for repentance. Behold, we are the same height, and, by exchanging clothes, the jailer can be deceived. I will remain here until the morning, when, by the assistance of Corney, you will be far on your way towards the strange country I had hoped to have traversed with you."

Michael was so completely bewildered by

what he had heard-astounded with the sudden hope that burst upon him, at the very time when utter despair had taken the place of every other feeling, that Ellen was compelled to make the necessary arrangements herself; and never on any occasion, did she evince more presence of mind, or appear more collected. Who can describe her sensations, when, at the appointed hour, the jailer summoned her forth, and she saw Michael depart under his unconscious guidance? Deep and fervent were her prayers during that gloomy night; and great the amazement which pervaded the jail and town when the deception was discovered. Officers were dispatched in pursuit of the fugitive, but he was no where to be found. Ellen's reply to all interrogatories was simply this: "Had I not believed him innocent of the crime for which he was about to suffer, I would not have saved him." Wonderfully was the love of justice blended in her character with the more tender and gentle affections.

[Dr. Walsh's contribution, (always looked for with anxiety by the Amulet readers,) is a most interesting account of the]

Earthquake at Zante, in 1820.

When the servant led me to my room he left a large brass lamp, lighting on a ponderous carved table, on the opposite side to that on which I slept. My bed, as is usual in this island, was without a canopy, and open above. As soon as I got into it, I lay for some time gazing on the ceiling, with many pleasing ideas of persons and things floating on my mind; even the grotesque figures above were a source of amusement to me: and I remember falling into a delightful sleep while I was yet making out fancied resemblances to many persons I was acquainted with. The next sensation I recollect was one indescribably tremendous. The lamp was still burning, but the whole room was in motion. The figures on the ceiling seemed to be animated, and were changing places: presently they were detached from above, and with large fragments of the cornice, fell upon me, and about the room. An indefinable, melancholy, humming sound seemed to issue from the earth, and run along the outside of the house, with a sense of vibration that communicated an intolerable nervous feeling; and I experienced a fluctuating motion, which threw me from side to side as if I were still on board the frigate, and overtaken by a storm. The house now seemed rent asunder with a violent crash. A large portion of the wall fell in, split into splinters the oak table, extinguished the lamp, and left me in total darkness; while, at the same instant, the thick walls opened about me, and the blue sky, with a bright star, became, for a moment, visible through one of the chasms. I now threw off the bed-clothes, and attempted to

escape from the tottering house; but the ruins of the wall and ceiling had so choked up the passage that I could not open the door; and I again ran back to my bed, and instinctively pulled over my face the thick coverlid, to protect it from the falling frag

ments.

Up to this period I had not the most distant conception of the cause of this commotion. The whole had passed in a few seconds, yet such was the effect of each circumstance that they left on my mind as distinct an impression as if the succession of my ideas had been slow and regular. Still I could assign no reason for it, but that the house was going to fall, till an incident occured which caused the truth at once to flash on my mind. There stood, in the square opposite the Palazzo, a tall, slender steeple of a Greek church, containing a ring of bells, which I had remarked in the day; these now began to jangle with a wild unearthly sound, as if some powerful hand had seized the edifice below, and was ringing the bells by shaking the steeple. Then it was that I had the first distinct conception of my situation. I found that the earthquake we had talked so lightly of was actually come; I felt that I was in the midst of one of those awful visitations which destroys thousands in a moment-where the superintending hand of God seems for a season to withdraw itself, and the frame of the earth is suffered to tumble into ruins by its own convulsions. O God! I cannot describe my sensations when I thus saw and felt around me the wreck of nature, and that with a deep and firm conviction on my mind, that to me that moment was the end of the world. I had before looked death in the face in many ways, and had reason more than once to familiarize me to his appearance; but this was nothing like the ordinary thoughts or apprehensions of dying in the common way; the sensations were as different as an earthquake and a fever.

But this horrible convulsion ceased in a moment, as suddenly as it began, and a dead and solemn silence ensued. This was soon broken by the sound of lamentations, which came from below; and I afterwards found it proceeded from the inhabitants of an adjoining house, which had been shaken down, and crushed to death some, and half buried others who were trying to escape, in the ruins. Presently I saw a light through the crevice of the door of my chamber, and heard the sound of voices outside. It proceeded from the servants, who came to look for me among the ruins. As they could not enter by the usual door-way, which was choked up, they proceeded round to another; but when they saw the room filled with the wrecks of the wall and ceiling, some of which were lying on the bed, one of them said, "Sacraménto! eccolo schiaccato. There he is, crushed to death!"

and proceeded to remove the rubbish, and lift the bed clothes. I was lying unhurt, buried in thought; but the dust caused me to sneeze, and relieved the apprehensions of the good people.

I immediately rose, and dressed myself, and proceeded with them about the Palazzo, to see the damage it had sustained. The massive outside walls were all separated from each other, and from the partition walls, and left chasms between, through which the light appeared. Providentially, the room in which I slept had the bed against a partition wall, and nothing fell on me but pieces of the ceiling and cornice; had it been on the other side, next the main wall, I could not have escaped, for it was entirely covered with masses of masonry, which had smashed and buried under them every thing on which they fell. I had repined that I had not been able to escape by the door when I attempted it, but to this circumstance also I now found I was indebted, under Providence, for my preservation. A wing of the house had fallen into the courtyard, through which I had intended to make my way; and, no doubt, had I done so at the moment I tried, would have buried me under it.

We

It was now past four in the morning, and we proceeded, with intense anxiety, to the Government-house, to see if any of our friends, whom we had left so well and cheerful a few hours before, had escaped. The weather had totally changed. The sky seemed to partake in the convulsions of the earth: it blew a storm, driving the dark clouds along with vast rapidity. The streets were full of people, hurrying in different directions, but all in profound silence, as if under some awful impression, and crowding into the churches, which were every where lighted up, and full of people. The priests were in their vestments singing solemn dirges, and the congregations on their faces, prostrated in the profoundest reverence. found our friends all assembled, with Lord and Lady Strangford, in the dining hall of the palace. To this room they had run in their night dresses, as to a place of more security, being a ground floor detached from the rest of the edifice, and having no building over it. Here we sat till it was light, telling our several escapes; and then I went out into the town, to see the state in which it was left. Nearly the whole of the 4,000 houses of which it consisted were split open in different places, and many from the foundation to the roof. About forty were lying prostrate, and obstructing the passage of the streets. The front walls of many were separated from the sides, and hanging over the way, seeming ready to fall every moment upon the passenger. This tendency of the walls to fall out saved many lives; but there was another circumstance to which their safety was attributed by the Zantiotes themselves. The night

had been the vigil of their great patron-saint, Dionysius, and almost the whole population were watching in the streets or churches, and so out of their houses, when the shock came on. The churches were of immense strength, and, though all shaken and shattered, none of them fell; which the pious people universally attributed to the interference of the saint, whose rites they were celebrating. Not more than forty dead bodies were found in the ruins. It appears, by the concurrent testimony of several, that the whole duration of the earth's motion was not longer than fifty seconds or a minute; yet if the time were marked by the passing sensations of different people, that brief space appeared to be hours.

[Another gem is a brilliant allegory, by Mr. E. L. Bulwer, M.P.-" Arasmanes, or the Seeker," a young Chaldæan, who sets out in quest of the garden of Aden, for which he mistakes many scenes. Two of the chapters, representing him a king, are as follow:]

The Chaldæan was no longer young; the hardships he had undergone in the desert had combined with the anxieties that had preyed upon him during his residence in the city of the Golden Palaces, to plant upon his brow and in his heart the furrows of untimely age. He was in the possession of all the sources of enjoyment at that period when we can no longer enjoy. Howbeit, he endeavoured to amuse himself by his divan of justice, from which every body went away dissatisfied, and his banquets, at which the courtiers complained of his want of magnificence, and the people of his profligate expense. Grown wise by experience, he maintained his crown by flattering his army; and, surrounded by luxury, felt himself supported by power.

There came to the court of Arasmanes a

strange traveller: he was a little, old man, of plain appearance, but great wisdom; in fact, he was one of the most noted sages of the East. His conversation, though melancholy, had the greatest attraction for Arasmanes, who loved to complain to him of the business of royalty, and the tediousness of his life.

"Ah! how much happier are those in a humbler station!" said the King. "How much happier was I in the desert cave, tending my heards, and listening to the sweet voice of Azraaph! would I could recall those days!"

"I can enable thee to do so, great King!" said the sage. "Behold this mirror; gaze on it whenever you desire to recall the past; and whatever portion of the past you wish to summon to your eyes, shall appear before you."

The sage did not deceive Arasmanes. The mirror reflected all the scenes through which the Chaldæan had passed: now he was at the feet of Chosphor, a happy boy; now with elastic hopes entering into the enchanted

valley of the nymph, ere yet he learned how her youth could fade; now he was at the source of the little stream, and gazing on the face of Azraaph by the light of the earliest star: whatever of these scenes he wished to live over again, reflected itself vividly in the magic mirror. Surrounded by pomp and luxury in the present, his only solace was in the past.

"You see that I was right," said he to the sage; "I was much happier in those days; else why so anxious to renew them ?"

"Because, O great King!" said the sage, with a bitter smile, "you see them without recalling the feelings you then experienced as well as the scenes; you gaze on the past with then made the prospect clouded is softened the feelings you now possess, and all that away by time. Judge for yourself if I speak true." So saying, the sage breathed over the mirror, and bade Arasmanes look into it once more. He did so. He beheld the same scenes; but the illusion was gone from them. He was a boy once more; but restlessness, and anxiety, and a thousand petty cares at his heart: he was again in the cave with Azraaph, but secretly pining at the wearisome monotony of his life: in all those scenes he now imagined the happiest, he perceived that he had not enjoyed the present; he had been looking forward to the future, and the dream of the unattainable Aden was at his heart. "Alas!" said he, dashing the mirror into pieces, "I was deceived! and thou hast destroyed for me, O sage, even the pleasure of the past!"

[The embellishments of The Amulet are, we think, the finest set of "Annual" plates. Among the most striking subjects are the frontispiece portrait of Donna Maria, after Lawrence; the Duenna, after Newton; Sir Roger de Coverley, and the Gipsies, from Leslie; and the Sea Shore, after Bonnington; the latter one of the most exquisite productions of modern art.]

The Comic Annual.

as

[MR. HOOD is " himself again." His merry budget (would that all budgets were welcome) is full of fun and what comic songwriters call patter. The cuts are rich in humour, and, unlike most comicalities, they will bear looking into. Laughter-moving as they are at first sight, the point is not by one glance. You can return to them again and again, and each time re-enjoy them: they are really such quaint little bits of conceit as to come like lucky stars at this dolorous season. We quote two specimens, and, by the indulgence of the publisher, two of the cuts. First is a sort of patter chant, quite Hoodish :]

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