expressly commanded, the Protector goodnaturedly ordered him to be well plied with sack, and was so well pleased with his performance, that at its conclusion he exclaimed-"What shall I do for you, Mr. Quin ?" The modest vocalist simply required to be restored to his student's place at Christ. Church, from which he had been dismissed by the visitors for intemperance, a petition with which his Highness promised compliance.

Milton was now again called for, and the Duke observed alarming appearances of another psalm, when he started up in great trepidation, declaring he had a most particular engagement in London, and that, however agonizing it might be to his feelings, he was absolutely compelled to tear himself from a noble species of entertainment, to which he was peculiarly devoted, and of which he should never lose the recollection. Compassion inducing him to include Mancini in his meditated escape, both parties took their leave together, with a profusion of compliments, and every external manifestation of the most profound reverence.

Scarcely, however, had their carriage cleared the

notes produced in the passions of Alexander, and that King of Denmark." p. 298. Wood tells us, that "when Baltzar played at Oxford, Wilson, the public professor of music, stooped down to his feet, to see whether he had a hoof on, that is to say, whether he was a devil or not, because he acted beyond the parts of a man."

gates of the palace, when the Duke, first indulging in an Alexandrine yawn, and then bursting into as continuous a peal of laughter, exclaimed, as he brought his grimaces to a peroration, "Positively, my dear Mancini, I must indemnify my jaws, by relaxing them in every possible direction, for the cramp they have acquired in this most stiff, starch, and petrifying court-convent. Monks are not selđom jovial and hilarious, hermits may be mercurial and frolicsome, cardinals vivacious and blithe, and even the holy father himself, (God forgive us!) is sometimes fain to enact the merry-andrew ;-but as to these grim saints, these dolorous laughter-hating Puritans, I shall now abominate them worse than ever, since by your solemn looks they seem to have infected you with a portion of their own rigidity of muscle."

"I would willingly smile at their fanaticism,” replied the crafty Italian, "if I could also laugh at their power; but when I reflect that religious enthusiasm, directed by military skill, has always been the most tremendous engine that man could wield, I confess that I too much fear this Mahomet of the West, and anticipate his future enterprises with too deep a dismay, to contemplate the Protector with any risible emotions. He has put himself at the head of the Protestant power in Europe, and the moment he seeks to give it a predomi

nance-"

"Bah!" exclaimed the Duke, interrupting him;

"he is himself no longer what he was, and where the spiritual phrenzy of his army has not altogether evaporated, it has broken up into sects and dissensions that render it more dangerous to himself than to others. As there is no natural coherence in the elements that he has moulded together, his power is personal and temporary. The present greatness of the country is in Cromwell, not in England. A powerful hand may knead up a snow-ball into an engine of attack, but the moment the pressure ceases, it either falls to pieces of itself, or gradually melts away; and this will be the fate of England whenever the Protector dies. Besides, I perfectly agree with my predecessor, that nothing permanently great can be expected from a country which has fifty different religions, and only two fish sauces. And so a truce to politics, which I hate for the same reason that a grocer abhors figs—and hey! for a snug corner, for if you will neither laugh nor talk nonsense, I have no alternative but a nap. Signor Mancini, I have the honour to wish you good night."-At these words he unbuckled his sword, stretched out his legs, and leaning back in a corner of the carriage, composed himself for the enjoyment of the only resource that was left to him.

CHAPTER VII.

"Palamon the prisoner Knight,

Restless for woe, arose before the light,

And with his jailor's leave desired to breathe
An air more welcome than the damp beneath."

DRYDEN.

THE Gate-house prison, to which the indignant Jocelyn was conducted on the following morning, stood in front of the great western towers of Westminster Abbey, to whose close it had originally formed the entrance or gate, whence the gaol derived its name. A part of the close itself, then surrounded by a high wall, formed the only place of recreation for the prisoners; and the antiquated building, little adapted for the security, and still less for the comfort, of its inmates, had no better plea for being converted into a prison, than that it was quite as ill adapted to the purpose as the other gates which had been thus appropriated. Although generally courageous above his years, and partly sustained upon the present occasion by a sense of vehement anger, Jocelyn could not approach these mournful precincts without a mixture of awful wonder and VOL. I. 14*

apprehension, that made his heart sink within him. Feelings of guilt, degradation, and terror are so intimately associated with our early notions of a prison, that he revolted from the idea of crossing the threshold; and when these general impressions of his mind were aggravated by the evidence of his senses, by the sight of chains and axes suspended over the gate, the deep gloom of the arch beneath which they were to pass, the ferocious look of the porter at the wicket, with his brown bill, and the hoarse rattling of bars and bolts, as the gates were opened for the entrance of the Colonel's carriage, few will wonder that he was almost overcome by his dismal prospects. Pride, however, enabled him to repress any manifestation of alarm, or even of emotion, until he had to bid adieu in the little lodge to the Colonel, when the remembrance of the kind treatment he had experienced, and the affectionate manner in which he recommended Jocelyn to the special protection of the gaoler, and promised him to exert his utmost influence for his speedy liberation, melted his heart, and occasioned the tears to flow copiously down his cheeks in spite of all his efforts. Short as was the period during which he had been his involuntary custodian, Lilburne had seen enough of the boy's noble qualities to take a deep interest in his fate. He comforted him therefore to the best of his ability, and having given orders about a good apartment, for which he paid beforehand, and repeated his assu