At midnight, or thereabouts, Signior Augustino suddenly drew the curtains of his bed, rose up, and dressed himself very completely.

I approached him with the candle in my hand, held it up to his face, and found him quite insensible, with his eyes still fixed and staring. Before he put on his hat, he buckled on his sword-belt, which was hung at the foot of the bed, and from which the sword had been recently taken for fear of accidents; for he sometimes was known, in one of these fits, to lay about him with great fury. Thus equipped, Signior Augustino took several turns round the room, approached to the chimney, and sat down in the arm-chair; and, a little after, went into a closet where was his portmanteau. He searched in it for a long time, and having rummaged it, and taken out a letter, he then put every thing into the same order, and shut it up, putting the key into his pocket, and the letter on the chimney: he then left the room, and went down stairs. When he was below, one of the company happening to stumble and make a noise, Augustino seemed to be frightened, and hastened his pace. His valet advised us to walk softly, and not to speak; because, whenever he heard a noise he generally became furious, and frequently ran as fast as he could, as if pursued by an enemy. He now crossed the court, which was very wide, and went directly to the stable. He entered, and after stroking his horse, bridled it, and went as if he intended to put on the saddle, but not finding that in his usual place, he seemed very uneasy, as if disappointed of some expected pleasure. He then mounted the horse, and gallopped it to the gate as fast as he could, but this was locked. He therefore alighted, and taking up a stone, he threw it several times with violence at the gate. After several unsuccessful efforts, he again got on horse-back, and rode to the watering-trough, which was at the other end of the court, there let the horse drink, tied the bridle to a post, and returned quickly back to the house. Upon the servants making a noise, he became more attentive, approached the door, and clapped his ear to the keyhole. Afterwards he went to a room in which there was a billiard-table; there he took several turns round it, as if engaged in play; after which he went to a harpsichord (on which he played tolerably well), and made a confused noise,

no ways resembling music. At length, after an exercise of two hours, he ascended to his apartment, threw himself, with his clothes on, upon the bed, where we found him the next day at nine, in the very same posture in which we left him; for every time the fit took him, he slept some days without interruption. His servant assured us, that there were but two methods of interrupting the fit; one to tickle, for some time, the soles of his feet; the other, to sound the French horn, or blow a trumpet at his ear.

HUMAN UNCERTAINTY.

BY D. S. L., AUTHOR OF THE HARP OF INNISFAIL."

Io so che l'uom della fortuna è un gioco,
E a far che mai gloria mortal mi domini
Mi figuro il sepolcro in ogni loco.

Salvator Rosa.

In the silvery quiet of morn and light,
The blue lake rolled its billows bright;
Playfully scorning each leafy isle,
With a wave as soft, as beauty's smile:
But hill-ward down the tempest came,
And the lightning wove its web of flame,
And the gentle breath and the sunny ray,
From that roused lake have passed away!

'Tis evening tide on the mountain high,
And sun-set lingers on the sky,
Flinging its shadows to the earth,
As heralds of the night-time's birth;
And lovers' vows are borne abroad,
And the novice's hymn is raised to God:
Till all thus beautiful and fair to see,
Is robed in night's immensity!

I saw a form in boyhood's hour,
Sipping all sweets from flower to flower,
And violets grew by his scented path,
And roses made him a glorious wreath;

And the gift of the bard, in poesy's bliss
To wake all the chords of the heart, was his :
But long, long years had darkened him now,
And where are the wreaths that honored his brow?

With the soul of song in her eye of blue,
Looking as maidens' love were true,
And her sunny hair, like strings of gold

Down a sweet-toned harp, o'er her fair neck rolled,
A bright-browed girl was sauntering on
Through all life has of hope and sun :
Summers have gone, but whose that grave,
Where the maidens strew fresh flowers each eve?

A mother was looking in comfort and pride
On the child that played by her happy side,
And as, warm in his innocent years, he listened,
She told him of lands, where the green boughs glistened
With spring and with buds, through the live-long year,
Not in change and in death, as they do here:

But that child hath gone forth 'mid the giddy and young,
And where are the sounds of that mother's tongue?

Lord Harold sits in his father's hall,
And youth has whispered its tale to all,
And the timbril guides the lively dance,
And the lord waves high his knightly lance,
And diamond agraff and princely plumes,
Shower their wealth through the amber rooms:
But the hall is dark, and the banner is low,
And where is the pride of Lord Harold now?

Thus passeth all, though it fairest seem,—
The visioned child of the same dull dream-
And though beauty be flinging its glances round,
And though song be swelling its joyful sound;
I heed not the kisses their lips invite,

Though tinged with all that makes beauty bright;
For, the veil torn down that is hanging there,
The eye sees nought save the sepulchre !

Early in the sixteenth century, Macdonald, of Clanranald, married the daughter of Fraser, Lord Lovat, and from this connexion some very unfortunate consequences to both these powerful families followed. Soon after his marriage, Clanranald died, and left but one lawful son, who was bred and educated at Castle Donie, the seat of Lord Lovat, under the care of his maternal grandfather. The name of the young chieftain was Ranald, and unhappily for himself he was distinguished by the appellation Gaulta, or Lowland, because Lovat's country was considered as approaching towards the manners, customs, and appearance of the Lowlands, compared to his own native land of Mojdart, one of the most barren and mountainous districts of the highlands.

Ranald was an accomplished youth, and promised to be an ornament to his family and his country; his disposition was amiable, and his appearance was much in his favor. When yet but a stripling, he visited his estate; and his people being desirous to give him the best reception in their power, he found at every house great entertainments provided, and much expense incurred by the slaughter of cattle, and other

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acts of extravagance, which appeared to Ranald very superfluous. He was a stranger to the customs of the country, and it would seem that he had no friendly or judicious counsellor. In an evil hour he remarked that he was extremely averse to this ruinous practice, which he was convinced the people could ill afford; and said, that for his own part he would be perfectly satisfied to dine on a fowl. Ranald had an illegitimate brother, (or, as some now say, an uncle's son,) who was born and bred on the estate. He was many years older than the young Clanranald, and was possessed of very superior abilities in his way. He was active, brave and ambitious to which were added much address and shrewdness. Having always resided at Moidart, where he associated with the people, and had rendered himself very popular, he had acquired the appellation of Jun Muidartich, or John of Moidart, a much more endearing distinction than Gaulta.

The remark Ranald had made, as to the extravagance of his people, gave great offence; and the preference he gave to a fowl seemed to indicate a mean sordid disposition, unbecoming the representative of so great a family. John Muidartich and his friends encouraged these ideas, and Ranald was soon known by the yet more contemptuous appellation of Ranald of the hens. He soon left Moidart, and again returned to his grandfather's house. His brother (now his opponent,) remained in that country, and he used all the means in his power to strengthen his interest. He married the daughter of Macdonald, of Ardnamurchau, the head of a numerous and turbulent tribe, whose estate bordered on Moidart, and his intention to oppose Ranald became every day more evident. Several attempts were made by mutual friends to effect a compromise, but without any permanent effect. At length, a conference between the brothers was appointed at Inverlochy, where Ranald attended, accompanied by old Lovat and a considerable body of his clan; but especially a very large portion of the gentlemen of his name were present. John also appeared; and to prevent any suspicion of violence, the number of his attendants was but small, and his demeanour pacific and unassuming.

Lovat made proposals on the part of his grandson, and, with very little hesitation, they were acceded to by John and his friends. All parties appeared to be highly pleased, and