out of his delusion: he received confidence as suddenly as he had lost it; and stretching out his hand to Jocelyn, exclaimed, "Forgive me, Sir; I insulted you by calling you a man, when you are, like myself, one of his victims; a sufferer from his baseness and injustice. You will not wonder that I loathe and spurn at the mischievous biped, when you reflect that disappointed hope turns to disgust, and unrequited affection to hatred. Farewell, Sir; I cannot wish you better than I wish myself; that you may be speedily released from a world that makes life a daily death, by laying your head in the tranquil grave, that makes death an eternal life."

Such was his parting with the misanthropical exile. His wife preserved her usual sedate dignity, blended with a cordiality of manners, and such fervent prayers for his happiness, as she bade him farewell, that he knew not which most to admire, the fortitude and even heroism with

which she endured her own sorrows, or the ardour with which she strove to alleviate those of others. Julia, she informed him, was too much indisposed to appear and bid him adieu; but she had charged her mother with the expression of her regard, and all cordial good-wishes for his prosperity and welfare.

Cheerless and repulsive as had appeared to Jocelyn the desolation of Haelbeck, and the mode of his reception upon his first arrival, his feelings upon quitting it partook much more of regret than of exhilaration. It was only when he thus tore himself away from her, that he felt how his heart lingered behind him, and longed to remain with Julia; while there appeared an unmanly sort of cruelty in leaving so young, beautiful, and vivacious a creature, to be buried alive, and suffered to wither away in that pestilent and watery sepulchre. Often did he accuse himself of cowardice and injustice in sacrificing the happiness, perhaps, of Julia, as well

as his own, to undefined apprehensions and vague prejudice. His better reason, however, convinced him, that he who means to live in the world must consult the feelings of society; that an alliance with an infamous family would never be recognised by his own; and that happiness seldom attends a union unsanctioned by public opinion, or the consent of relatives.

Laying

this unction to his soul, he hastened forward, lost in a thousand fruitless conjectures, as to the mystery that hung over the dark fate of Strickland, and occasionally diverting his thoughts to his own situation and prospects, and the most eligible mode of finding his way to England.

The disturbed state of Holland, and the peril to which he would be exposed, should he be recognised as the suspected English spy who had fled from the Burgomaster's house at Rotterdam, determining him to avoid that country altogether, he made a considerable detour, intending to embark at some port of the Spanish

Netherlands. On reaching his destined point, he could not find any vessel that would undertake to land him in England, the Dutch fleet being at that moment masters of the sea, and capturing every ship bound to the ports of their enemy. Disappointed in his first expectations, he betook himself to another harbour, where there was greater commerce, and, as he hoped, an additional chance of succeeding in his object; but here the same difficulties presented themselves, and a considerable interval elapsed, during which his finances became so much reduced, that he began to apprehend he should soon want the means of purchasing a passage, a contingency which he contemplated with the greater mortification, as it was now known that the English fleet had sailed from Harwich, and were in search of the Dutch squadron. A Flemish fisherman at length, who had a sister married to a tradesman at Stepney, undertook to carry him up the Thames, and land him at that place,

a proposition which was joyfully accepted, although the passage was to be made in an open boat; and they set sail the next day with a favourable breeze, which continued for some hours.

Upon the clearing up of the mist, early on the following morning, Jocelyn was not a little alarmed at finding himself in the midst of a numerous fleet of men-of-war, apprehensive that it might be the Dutch squadron, and not at all solicitous of being thrown into a prison in Holland. The fisherman, however, stoutly maintained that it was the English fleet. A shot from one of the ships, that flashed through the water a little a-head of them, quickly induced him to bring to, and run alongside the vessel whence it proceeded, when they were ordered on board, and Jocelyn had the satisfaction of finding himself in the Royal Oak, commanded by Sir John Lawson. Instead of the friendly greeting, however, which he expected, he met a rough and discourteous welcome, being told that