man, "to write word to my antagonist that he has gained his sait, and that I am ready to pay all the costs and damages to which I shall be condemned; with my letter he shall receive that charter which belongs to him, and which you ought to have delivered to him. You have thought as ill of me, as I must now think of you.-Be gone!" METASTASIO. WHEN Metastasio's circumstances were far from affluent, and he was only known at Vienna as an assistant writer for the Opera, under Apostolo Zeno, a person with whom he had contracted a great intimacy and friendship, dying, left him his whole fortune amounting to fifteen thousand pounds sterling. But Metastasio hearing that he had relations at Bologna, went thither in search of them; and having found such as he thought best entitled to these possessions, told them, that though his deceased friend had left him his whole fortune, he could suppose it to be no otherwise than in trust, till he should find out the most deserving of his kindred, in order to divide it equitably among them; which he immediately did, without the least reserve in his own favour. SINGULAR SECLUSION. HENRY WELBY was a native of Lincolnshire, where he had an estate of above a thousand pounds a year. He possessed, in an eminent degree, the qualifications of a gentleman. Having been a competent time at the University and inns of court, he completed his education by making the tour of Europe. He was happy in the love and esteem of his friends, and indeed of all that knew him, as his heart was warm, and the virtues of it were conspicuous from his many acts of humanity, benevolence, and charity. When he was about forty years of age, his brother, an abandoned profligate, made an attempt upon his life with a pistol, which not going off, he wrested it from his hauds, and found it charged with a double bullet. Hence he formed a resolution of retiring from the world; and taking a house in Grub-street, he reserved three rooms for himself; the first for his diet, the second for his lodging, and the third for his study. In these he kept himself so closely retired, that for forty-four years he was never seen by any human creature, except an old maid that attended him, who had only been permitted to see him in some cases of great necessity. His diet was constantly bread, water-gruel, milk, and vegetables; and, when he indulged himself most, the yolk of an egg. He bought all the new books that were published, most of which, upon a slight examination, he rejected. His time was regularly spent in reading, meditation, and prayer. No Carthusian monk was ever more constant and rigid in his abstinence. His plain garb, his long and silver beard, his mortified and venerable aspect, bespoke him an ancient inhabitant of the desart, rather than a gentleman of fortune in a populous city. He expended a great part of his income in acts of charity, and was very inquisitive after proper objects. He died the 29th of October, 1636, in the eighty-fourth year of his age, and lies buried in St. Giles's Church, near Cripplegate. The old maid servant died but six days before her master. He had a very amiable daughter, who married Sir Christopher Hilliard, a gentleman of Yorkshire; but neither she, nor any of her family, ever saw her father after his retirement. SUPERSTITION. THE security which Aurungzebe acquired by the defeat of his many formidable rivals, was disturbed from a quarter which added ridicule to danger. In the territory of the Prince of Marwar, near the city of Nagur, there lived an old woman, who was arrived at the eightieth year of her age. She possessed a considerable hereditary estate, and had accumulated, by penury, a good sum of money. Being seized with a fit of enthusiasm, she became all of a sudden, prodigal of her wealth. Fakiers and sturdy beggars, under a pretence of religion, to the number of five thousand, gathered round her castle, and received her bounty. These vagabonds, not satisfied with what the old woman bestowed in charity, armed themselves, and, making predatory excursions into the country, returned with spoil to the house of their patroness, where they mixed intemperance and riot with devotion. The people, oppressed by these sanctified robbers, rose upon them, but they were defeated with great slaughter. Repeated disasters of the same kind were at last attributed to the power of enchantment. This ridiculous opinion gaining ground, fear became predominant in the opponents of the fakiers. The banditti, acquiring confidence from their success, burnt and destroyed the country for many leagues, and surrounded the castle of the pretended enchantress with a desart. The raja marched against them with his native troops, but was defeated; the collectors of the imperial revenue attacked them, but they were forced to give way. A report prevailed, and was eagerly believed by the multitude, that, on a certain day of the moon, the old lady used to cook in the scull of an enemy, a mess composed of owls, bats, snakes, lizards, human flesh, and other horrid ingredients, which she distributed to her followers. This abominable meal, it was believed by the rabble, had the surprising effect, of not only rendering them void of all fear themselves, and inspiring their enemies with terror, but even of making them invisible in the hour of battle, when they dealt their deadly blows around. Their numbers being now increased to twenty thousand, this motley army, with an old woman at their bead, directed their march towards the capital. Bistamia, for that was her name, was a commander full of cruelty. She covered her route with murder and devastation, and hid her rear in the smoke of burning villages and towns. Having advanced to Narnoul, about five days journey from Agra, the collector of the revenue in that place opposed her with a force, and was totally defeated. The affair was now become serious, and commanded the attention of the emperor. He found that the minds of the soldiers were tainted with the prejudices of the people, and he thought it necessary to combat Bistamia with weapons like her own. Sujait was ordered against the rebels. The em peror, in the presence of the army, delivered to that general, billets written with his own hand, which were said to contain magical incantations. His reputation for sanctity was at least equal to that of Bistamia; and he ordered a billet to be carried on the point of a spear before each squadron, which the soldiers were made to believe would counteract the enchantments of the enemy. The credulity which induced them to dread the witchcraft of the old woman, gave them confidence in the pretended charm of Aurungzebe; and the result of the confidence was their complete success. SINGING AT SIGHT. "WHEN Handel went through Chester in the year 1741," says Dr. Burney, "I was at the public school in that city, and very well remember seeing him smoke a pipe, over a dish of coffee, at the Exchange Coffee House; for being extremely curious to see so extraordinary a man, I watched him narrowly as long as he remained at Chester; which, on account of the wind being unfavourable for his embarking at Parkgate, was several days. During this time, he applied to Mr. Baker, the organist, my first music master, to know whether there were any choir-men in the cathedral, who could sing at sight, as he wished to prove some books that had been hastily transcribed, by trying the choruses, which he intended to perform in Ireland. Mr. Baker mentioned some of the most likely singers then in Chester, and among the rest, a printer of the name of Janson, who had a good bass voice, and was one of the best musicians in the choir. A time was fixed for this private rehersal at the Golden Falcon, where Handel was quartered; but, alas! on trial of the chorus in the Messiah, "And with his stripes we are healed," poor Janson, after repeated attempts, failed so egregiously, that Handel, after swearing in four or five different languages, cried out in broken English, "You shcauntrel! tit not you dell me dat you could sing at soite?"-"Yes, sir," said the printer," and so I can, but not at first sight.” RAMBLE IN THE HIGHLANDS. INSTEAD of the miserable hovel that is so picturesquely described in Rob Roy, a respectable stone building now affords the traveller a welcomed resting place on his arrival at the village of Aberfoyle. The inn is situated on one side of the road, on the other side of which runs the river Forth, which is here crossed by an old stone-bridge. Behind the house is Aberfoyle, which consists of a row of huts at the foot of some lofty hills. Through the superior speed of two of our companions, we, who had followed in the rear during the whole of the day's walk, had not longer to hunger for our dinner when we had once seated ourselves in the inn. Our meal was made up of eggs and bacon, washed down with some excellent whiskey and foreign wine of a tolerably good quality for the place; and with eating and conversation we passed, or to use the expression of a fellow-traveller, "vegetated," a pleasant evening round the fire-place of the inn at Abêrfoyle. When we arose next morning it was raining hard, but being tied as to time, and having a considerable distance to traverse before we should reach Edinburgh, we resolved not to be intimidated by the weather, and accordingly, after we had made a hearty breakfast, and received some local information from our host, proceeded northward up a rugged road leading among D |