Covered with soot, and dirt, and dust, and lime; their garments torn to rags; their hair hanging wildly about them; their hands and faces jagged and bleeding with the wounds of rusty nails; Barnaby, Hugh, and Dennis hurried on before them all, like hideous madmen. After them, the dense throng came fighting on some singing; some shouting in triumph; some quarrelling among themselves; some menacing the spectators as they passed; some with great wooden fragments, on which they spent their rage as if they had been alive, rending them limb from limb, and hurling the scattered morsels high into the air; some in a drunken state, unconscious of the hurts they had received from falling bricks, and stones, and beams; one borne upon a shutter, in the very midst, covered with a dingy cloth, a senseless, ghastly heap. Thus a vision of coarse faces, with here and there a blot of flaring, smoky light; a dream of demon heads and savage eyes, and sticks and iron bars uplifted in the air, and whirled about; a bewildering horror, in which so much was seen, and yet so little, which seemed so long and yet so short, in which there were so many phantoms, not to be forgotten all through life, and yet so many things that could not be observed in that distracting glimpse-it flitted onward, and was gone. As it passed away upon its work of wrath and ruin, a piercing scream was heard. A knot of persons ran towards the spot; Gashford, who just then emerged into the street, among them. He was on the outskirts of the little concourse, and could not see or hear what passed within; but one who had a better place, informed him that a widow woman had descried her son among the rioters. « Is that all?" said the secretary, turning his face homewards. « Well! I think this looks a little more like busi ness ! » (To be continued.) . ZANONI. By the author of Night and Morning. 2 vols. Saunders & Otley. In short, I could make neither head nor tail on't. Such is the motto prefixed by Sir E. L. Bulwer to this, the last of his brilliant series of fictions. Whether purposely, for the sake of experiment, or unconsciously, in consequence of a peculiar vein of study, or wilfully, to puzzle simple and to pique thinking readers—we know not, neither care; certain it is that he here wanders far beyond common ken and common sympathy, as to the subject-matter of his romance, and the manner in which it is conducted. The former is mystical, philosophical, fantastical--a web spun of the dreams which wander past the half shut eye of the imaginative man, when he is nearest the boundary between the visible and the invisible world-and not made up of The thoughts, the passions, the delights, We gain some insight into our author's conceptions from a prefatory dialogue, in which the following paragraphs are thrown out : «In all works of imagination, whether expressed by words or by colours, the artist of the higher schools must make the broadest distinction between the Real and the True, -in other words, between the imitation of actual life, and the exaltation of Nature into the Ideal. The one,' said he, is the Dutch School, the other is the Greek.'-Sir,' said 1, the Dutch is the most in fashion.'-' Yes, in painting perhaps,' answered my host, but in literature—'— ' It was of literature I spoke. Our growing poets are all for simplicity and Betty Foy; and our critics hold it the highest praise of a work of imagination, to say that its characters are exact to common life. Even in sculpture--In sculpture! No-no! there the high ideal must at least be essential!'-' Pardon me: I fear you have not seen Souter Johnny and Tam O'Shanter.'-'Ah!' said the old gentleman, shaking his head, I live very much out of the world, I see. I suppose |