to this fraud, should assume a miraculous gift from Heaven, should presume to rival his Saviour, and, like the magicians of Pharaoh, attempt to compete with those whom God himself had endowed with supernatural power, did appear to Jocelyn a most impious and daring mockery of Heaven.

One circumstance in the proceeding had interested him, more than all the mummery with which it was invested. His attention had been particularly directed to the agonized countenance of a poor woman, who was watching the progress of her diseased boy towards the throne. On a previous occasion he had been disappointed of obtaining the royal touch, and her fear lest he should again prove unsuccessful, kept every feature of her face upon the rack of suspense; but no sooner had she seen the King's hand passed across his cheeks, than her maternal feelings drove from her mind every consideration of place and circumstance, and uttering a shriek of joy that made the silent hall echo, she clapped her hands together, crying out,—“ He is cured! he is cured! he is cured!" and

fell into an hysterical passion of loud laughter. Jocelyn subsequently saw her sitting in one corner of the hall with her boy upon her knees, kissing him, and fondling him, and weeping into his bosom with a gush of uncontrolable tender

ness.

Just as the assemblage were pouring out of the banqueting-room into the street, it chanced that the Duke of York, who had been hunting upon Hounslow Heath, was passing along the front of Whitehall, accompanied by a guard of horse, a circumstance which occasioned a considerable pressure and some confusion among the throng of people. In the midst of the disturbance, however, the keen eye of Jocelyn recognized a female figure on the opposite side of the street that electrified him with sudden surprise; it was Julia Strickland, leaning on the arm of a gentleman, whose back was towards him, and who, from the transient glance that he could obtain of his figure, appeared to be a stranger. Following the first impulse of his heart, he attempted to rush forward, and renew his acquaintance with her, but the dense crowd,

pressing backwards to avoid the horses, for some time baffled all his efforts, vehement as they were, to extricate himself from the mass. No sooner was he enabled to accomplish that object, than he hurried to the Tiltyard, in which direction they had been walking; but the objects of his search were now no longer to be seen : they had become mingled with the crowd, and had disappeared. For a considerable time he paced up and down with the greatest eagerness, gazing in all directions, and peering into the face of every female that he encountered; but convinced at last that his pursuit was hopeless, he gave over the chace, and returned to his own apartments, fatigued in body, and not a little agitated in his mind.

CHAPTER VI.

"I'll read you matter deep and dangerous,
As full of peril and advent'rous spirit,
As to o'erwalk a current, roaring loud,
On the unsteadfast footing of a spear."

SHAKSPEARE.

THE passion which had been so long smouldering in Jocelyn's bosom, and which at one period he had imagined to be extinguished, was quickly rekindled by the unexpected appearance of Julia, although he had seen her only for a moment; while an incipient feeling of jealousy, as to the companion upon whose arm she had been leaning, convinced him that he could never bear to see her in possession of another. All his prudential dissuasives retained their full force in theory, but he began to falter in his resolution of reducing them to practice; and as he felt his love revive, he looked with additional distaste upon that course of dissipation to which, in the disappointment of his hopes,

he had fled as a substitute, and of which he already began to feel heartily ashamed. He determined to devote himself to the discovery of Julia; to penetrate, if possible, the mystery of her father's fate, and ascertain whether any favourable change of circumstance might have occurred to warrant an explicit declaration of his attachment. Her being in England wore an auspicious appearance; she had most solemnly declared at Haelbeck that she would never quit her father; he was doubtless, therefore, with her; there was an end of the banishment; his troubles and misfortunes, whatever was their nature, had passed away; the cloud of ignominy that hung over him was dispersed; he was restored to society; and an alliance with his family would entail neither censure nor dishonour upon the party seeking it. Such was the flattering vision conjured up in a moment by his sanguine hopes; such was the bright prospect which he trusted to be able to realize, as soon as he should have learned Julia's retreat; and this discovery he had no doubt of speedily effecting through the instrumentality of Constantia, whose resi