e ghosts of fat Lamberts; and this uproar it was,
that heightened the din above-ground.

But heedless of all, in the midst of the amphitheater, stood a tall,
gaunt warrior, ferociously tattooed, with a beak like a buzzard; long
dusty locks; and his hands full of headless arrows. He was laboring
under violent paroxysms; three benevolent individuals essaying to hold
him. But repeatedly breaking loose, he burst anew into his delirium;
while with an absence of sympathy, distressing to behold, the rest of
the assembly seemed wholly engrossed with themselves; nor did they
appear to care how soon the unfortunate lunatic might demolish himself
by his frantic proceedings.

Toward one side of the amphitheatrical space, perched high upon an
elevated dais, sat a white-headed old man with a tomahawk in his hand:
earnestly engaged in overseeing the tumult; though not a word did he
say. Occasionally, however, he was regarded by those present with a
mysterious sort of deference; and when they chanced to pass between
him and the crazy man, they invariably did so in a stooping position;
probably to elude the atmospheric grape and cannister, continually
flying from the mouth of the lunatic.

"What mob is this?" cried Media.

"'Tis the grand council of Vivenza," cried a bystander. "Hear ye not
Alanno?" and he pointed to the lunatic.

Now coming close to Alanno, we found, that with incredible volubility,
he was addressing the assembly upon some all-absorbing subject
connected with King Bello, and his presumed encroachments toward the
northwest of Vivenza.

One hand smiting his hip, and the other his head, the lunatic thus
proceeded; roaring like a wild beast, and beating the air like a
windmill:--

"I have said it! the thunder is flashing, the lightning is crashing!
already there's an earthquake in Dominora! Full soon will old Bello
discover that his diabolical machinations against this ineffable land
must soon come to naught. Who dare not declare, that we are not
invincible? I repeat it, we are. Ha! ha! Audacious Bello must bite the
dust! Hair by hair, we will trail his gory gray beard at the end of
our spears! Ha, ha! I grow hoarse; but would mine were a voice like
the wild bulls of Bullorom, that I might be heard from one end of this
great and gorgeous land to its farthest zenith; ay, to the uttermost
diameter of its circumference. Awake! oh Vivenza. The signs of the
times are portentous; nay, extraordinary; I hesitate not to ad