up with something of its former spirit and beauty, he shouted out, with a startling vehemence:

"I'll not yield,

To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet,
And to be baited with the rabble's curse.
Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane
And thou oppos'd, being of no woman born,
Yet I will try the last; before my body

I throw my warlike shield: lay on Macduff;

And damn'd be he that first cries-Hold! enough!”

After the completion of this scene, which was delivered on both sides with a tearing violence of voice and gesticulation, that seemed intended to atone for lost time, the performers, animated by the clamorous applauses of the Cavaliers who surrounded them, retired triumphantly to their joint apartment, Pickering swelling and strutting as if he disdained the earth; and even the crest-fallen Rookwood lifting up his head and throwing out his foot with a pleasurable confidence, to which he had long been a stranger. Encouraged by the success of this debut, the latter sent immediately for Jocelyn, and taking upon himself the unusual office of spokesman, rendered absolutely necessary by the incomprehensible magniloquence of his friend, requested him to oblige them by studying the part of Lady Macbeth, in the tragedy which had been called to his remembrance; and which (he said) they were about to get up. To this Jocelyn gave a willing assent, undertaking the task more readily when he was told that their projected freak would irritate and annoy the Puritans, towards whom he felt already an hereditary hatred. Fortunately possessing two copies of the play, they gave one to Jocelyn, enjoining secrecy, lest the design should come to the ears of Lockhart the jailer, who would infallibly prevent its execution. As to the female garb in which he was to be attired, they confessed themselves at present unprovided, but relied upon the assistance of a friend in Petty France, with whom they had occasional communication; when after giving him a few instructions, and requesting him to be quick in studying his part, they dismissed him with many thanks.

At an early hour on the following morning, Jocelyn was seated upon a bench in a lonely comer of the yard, conning over his play with all the curious eagerness of youth, when a wild, gaunt-looking Anabaptist stalked up to him, and exclaimed in a solemn voice, -"A play-house is Tophet; - players are the devil's imps; and with printed plays doth Beelzebub bait his hooks. Cast them from thee; and if thou seekest that which may amuse thee without destroying thy soul, here are George Wither's Hymns; Quarles's Feast for Worms, in a Poem of the History of Jonah; and Robert Wisdome's Translation of the Psalms. Lay them to thy heart, and flee from the wrath to come." So saying, he deposited the books on the bench, and strode away without farther colloquy.

Not less surprised at this unexpected donation that at the strange being who bestowed it, Jocelyn instantly opened one of the books, and was deeply occupied in its perusal, when he was obliged to quit his seat by the approach of a wagon bringing coals to the cellar, which was just beyond the bench. Resuming his seat when it passed, he continued for some time immersed in reading, until he was startled by the falling of a small coal upon the page, an occurrence, however, to which he gave only a momen tary attention, when he received a blow upon the hand from a larger fragment. Starting up to resent what he now considered an intentional affront, he looked round and beheld the driver of the wagon, who had placed himself so as to escape observation from others, laying his finger upon his lin

and then beckoning him to approach. This he did, in no small wonderment at the meaning of so mysterious an invitation; nor was his surprise diminished when he came near, at being thus addressed in an eager whisper, --"Master Jocelyn! master Jocelyn! don't be alarmed; it's I, Jack Whittaker; don't you know me in this disguise? We have not a moment to lose; jump into the wagon, and I'll cover you over with empty sacks. Up, up! there's nobody near."

So saying, and without giving him time to deliberate, he bundled him into the cart, and in a few minutes Jocelyn found himself half-buried beneath a pile of dirty coal-sacks; while the trusty sergeant, whistling aloud to testify his unconcern, drove back his horses towards the gate. Cunningly as he had devised, and successfully as he had hitherto executed his plot, he was so little conversant with the customs of his new calling, as to have forgotten that all shrewd and wary housekeepers make a point of counting the empty sacks, either in person or by deputy, before they suffer the vehicle to quit their doors. It is not easy therefore to depict his alarm, or rather his vexation, for he was under every circumstance a perfect stranger to the former feeling, when, after having passed the gate, he was called back by the vigilant Mr.. Giles Lockhart, to execute this particularly unpleasant part of his duty. In such an emergency, not conceiving it at all necessary to boggle at a falsehood, he boldly declared that they had been reckoned already, inside the prison, and that he would not take the trouble again to please the best man in England.

So saying, he was preparing to drive on, in spite of all impediment, when the jailer exclaiming That turn shall not serve you, sir knave!" ran after him, and seized him by the collar. A desperate struggle ensued, in which the sergeant succeeded at last in throwing off his assailant; but seeing him prepared to renew the attack, he hastily drew a rapier from under his wagoner's frock, and bade him fall back, if he had no wish to be a dead man. Just as he was about to strike one of the horses with the flat of his sword, to urge the animal forward, he was himself felled to the earth by the athletic porter, who, coming behind, knocked him down with the butt-end of his brown bill, and then fell upon his body to secure him; while Lockhart seized the sword which had fallen from his hand, and held it pointed at his throat. At this juncture, the jailer's wife, who had witnessed Che whole transaction, rushed from the lodge, screaming out— “Oh, the villain !__Oh, the bloodthirsty knave, to draw his sword upon an unarmed man. Kill him, Giles, kill him! cut the rascal's throat! was there ever such another rogue as this?"

Jocelyn, who had hitherto remained perdu, conjecturing from this cry that some foul violence was about to be perpetrated upon Whittaker, threw off the incumbent sacks, jumped from the cart, ran up to the spot, and seized the jailer's uplifted arm, filling the whole party with such an utter astonishment, that they remained staring at him for a few seconds in an open-mouthed bewilderment. The wife, who was the first to find her tongue, at length exclaimed-"Well, the fathers! if it isn't the lad that's so like our poor dear Thomas! and his sweet face all besmirched with coal-dust. And they were going to steal him away under the sacks! was there ever such another popish plot ?"

"Take this runaway spark," said the jailer to two of his men, who had come up on hearing the alarm, “iron his legs, and chuck him into the black-hole. I warrant we cure him of these pranks for one while to come." Jocelyn struggled hard against the execution of this decree, but he was in the grasp of sinews ten times as powerful as his own, and was therefore obliged to content himself with crying out to Lockhart-"Harkye, sirrah, if you harm but one hair of the sergeant's head, my father shall thrust his sword down your throat till your teeth stop it at the hilt."

"Well, he's a fine spirited little fellow, isn't he?" cried the wife; "and my poor dear Thomas would have been just such another. Don't pull and haul him so, Lucas! I'm sure he's as quiet and gentle as a lamb, and a kind-hearted little creature. I think Thomas was a thought taller: poor dear Thomas !"

Whittaker, who had been stunned by the first blow, and carried into the lodge in a state of insensibility, had no sooner recovered his senses, than Le jailer, still standing over him, exclaimed, with a stern look -"Ar'n't you a precious scoundrel, and don't you think you deserve to be killed ?"

"Ay, that I do," replied Whittaker, sullenly, "for once saving the life of such a squinting rascal as you are."

"A likely fetch!" cried the jailer, scornfully,—"that happened on the last thirtieth of February, didn't it?"

"Weren't you one of the Duke of Newcastle's Lambs ?"* inquired Whittaker.

Ay, to be sure I was, and what of that?"

'Nothing particular! only you may recollect your first refusing quarter at Warrington fight, and then begging me to spare your life for the sake of your boy, when just as I was helping you from under your horse, one of your rascally Roundheads rode up, and gave me this slice upon the cheek." "There's the scar, sure enough," cried the jailer, " and cruel red it looks, though I didn't see it afore for the coal-dust."

"Ah!" cried the sergeant, "I could swear to your squint-eye under any disguise, though it's a deal uglier than it was."

"And your name's Whittaker, isn't it?" inquired Lockhart.

"To be sure it is: - I was never ashamed of it till I saved your life." "Why, then, the devil of any harm shall come to you, Sergeant Whittaker,” cried the jailer, “even if I am tied up to the halter for it; so you may march away scot-free for this bout, and that's turn for turn, and cry quits."

"And did my good Giles ask you to spare his life for the sake of his wife and child?" inquired Madge, looking affectionately at her husband. "I don't recollect his saving anything about his wife,” replied Whittaker, "but I well remember nis mentioning the boy."

"Then bless thee, Giles, bless thee!" cried the wife, "for thinking of him at such a moment. Ah, you were ever a kind father, and well you might be with such a dear lovely affectionate- She was again re

curring to the corner of her apron, which seemed to be put in instant requisition upon every reference to the lost child, when her husband called out in an authoritative tone, "Come, Madge, let us have no whimpering, but fetch me down the ivory box from the cupboard up stairs. Ar'n't there six broad pieces of mine in it ?"

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Ay, and two rose-nobles of my own,” replied Madge, “left me by my grandfather."

"And should you object to give the whole to the man who saved your husband's life?"

"Lord love you, no! he's as welcome to them as the flowers in May," exclaimed Madge, who was hurrying away to bring them, when the sergeant cried "Thankye, mistress, thank ye; but I touch not a penny of your hoardings. I am a soldier, not a beggar; my day's work has cost me nothing but a broken head, which is a soldier's pay, and the five shilJings I gave to the wagoner for the use of his black frock; so it has been a cheap frolic after all. But if you have got any ale of the right sort, ale

* A regiment so called from their new white woollen uniforms. In one of the desperate engagements of the civil war, refusing to take quarter, they defended themselves all they were all cut to pieces or disabled.

with malt in it, I don't care if I take a toss of the pot; for this heaving of coals is but dry and dusty work."

Some double-bub Lambeth ale, which he admitted to be unexceptionable, having soon removed the injurious effects both of the black coals and of the brown bill, he arose to depart; when as he crossed the threshold the jailer exclaimed. --"Harkye, Sergeant Whittaker! I am an old soldier às well as yourself, and must follow orders, right or wrong, against friend or foe; so 'ware my quarters, and no more ambuscades. Cross not my lines a second time without trumpet, flag, or password, or look to the spy's wages a running noose, and no quarter."

All fair, all fair!" cried Whittaker, as he trudged away "but if I had ye again at Warrington fight, the devil might pick up such a squinting Roundhead from under his horse, before I would."

According to the orders of the jailer, Jocelyn had been punctually ironed and deposited in the black-hole, a most unattractive receptacle, where he passed the remainder of the day, and the whole of the following night, in great discomfort, and a proportionate bitterness of spirit. Lockhart appeared early in the morning bringing him his breakfast, and declaring that as he was but a youngster, and was moreover a gentleman's son, he might be freed from his irons and recover the range of the prison, if he would only give his parole not to make another attempt at escape. "I will die first!" cried Jocelyn, whose proud and stubborn temperament revolted against what he considered an act of oppression and tyranny.

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Say you so, my fierce young cockerel," cried Lockhart —“then this shall be your coop, unless you can pick the way out of it with your spurs, which are hardly sharp enough, I trow, to scratch a hole in a stone wall. What the foul fiend! am I to give you a second chance of breaking prison? There may you bite the bridle, proud jackanapes, till you are out of the sullens, for it will be some time before I repeat the offer." At these words he locked the door of the vault, for such the place might be termed, and was departing towards the lodge, when he was intercepted by Pickering, the player, who, stalking up to him with his cat-o'-mountain looks and colossal stride, planted himself before him, exclaiming-"Most potent governor and dread bashaw, whom vulgar prisoners Giles Lockhart call, why hast thou ta'en the Jocelynian youth, and plunged him in the den Tartarean, yclept black-hole? Give us the boy, and we thy name will

bless."

"Spout not your rantipole rubbish at me, Mr. Mountebank," said the jailer, angrily- -"if you mean yonder high-mettled spark, he shall lie where he is, and kick his heels till he has cooled his courage, or else my name isn't Giles Lockhart."

"Nor shalt thou thus be called," continued Pickering, "but tyrant dire, hyæna sanguinous, and monstrous minotaur, hirsute and fell! I am the champion of the victim youth, and if thou wilt his fate by arms decide, thus do I throw my gauntlet at thy feet."

Drawing himself up at these words into a most heroic and challenging attitude, he tossed at the feet of the jailer an old glove, or rather mitten, for the fingers had been gnawed or worn away nearly up to the knuckles.

Begone! you mouthing Tom o' Bedlam," cried Lockhart, "or I may crack your pate worse than it is already. 'Sniggers! you swashing scarecrow! I have had many roysterers and ruffling blades afore your time, and what with the bilboes and the black-hole, the halberd and the cat-o'-ninetails, I warrant I have tamed the maddest. Away! you swaggering tatterdemalion, or, by the Lord Harry, your back shall pay the same." The angry jailer walked muttering off, without farther noticing the wrath cʻ the irritated player, although he shouted after him, "Barbarian prute, and cannibalian cur, hight Lockhart! turn, and hear my dread resolve!" But

the party thus discourteously invoked had presently gained the lodge, leaving the disappointed appellant to stalk off and report to his comrade the ill success of his intercession for the deliverance of their heroine, which, however, he did not do till he had picked up and pocketed the fragment of his glove.

Obstinacy of purpose, and the pride that spurns at imagined oppression, were already so ingrafted in the mind of Jocelyn, that it is difficult to say how long he might have remained an inflexible tenant of the black-hole, had not Colonel Lilburne fortunately called on the succeeding morning to pay him a visit, and inquire whether he wanted any little comforts and accommodations in the prison, in order that they might be supplied from his own house. Attached to the boy from his spirited qualities, and pleased with his noble features, he was not less surprised than hurt at the light in which he found him, his legs secured by iron fetters, and his whole figure begrimed with the dirt and dust of the cart. On learning the particulars of his disgrace, he could not blame the jailer, who was responsible for his safe custody; indeed he felt rather disposed to take Jocelyn to task for refusing the easy terms offered, and had already begun to inculcate the prudence and necessity of submission, when the youth's kindling eyes, and the reddening of his cheeks, perceptible even through their sable defilement, warned him that all advice of this nature would probably be thrown away upon his fiery auditor. "Well, then," said the colonel, turning to Lockhart, "I will become responsible for him. I will be his bail, that he shall not quit the prison without your own orders; and I flatter myself that my young friend will not bring me into disgrace or trouble by violating the parole I have given for him, especially as I shall be urgent and unremitting in my exertions to procure his liberation,"

He then proceeded to state, that as he had so lately obtained a discharge for his brother, the "Trouble-world," he almost feared to venture so immediate a solicitation of a second favour, but that he had procured interest to be made with Lady Claypoole, who had readily promised her assistance, and whose mediation with the Protector, in acts of lenity and grace, had never failed of success. Informing Jocelyn that he had sent a few toilet luxuries into his chamber, to assist him in his ablutions, of which, however, he little expected to find him in such flagrant need, and recommending him to be amenable to authority, since his confinement was likely to be soon terminated, he then took his departure from the prison, while Jocelyn hurried to his apartment, to commence the necessary process of abstersion.

The business of the play, which had been interrupted by this untoward occurrence, was now resumed with fresh vigour. Two or three of the Cavaliers had been permitted to take parts, and all proceeded to study them with that eager love of novelty and excitement, which is so naturally produced by the dull listless monotony of a prison life. It had been ascertained that Lockhart, the jailer, was going in a few days to a christening at Brentford, a conjuncture too favourable to be lost; but the friends on whom reliance had been placed for the heroine's dress, declined the surreptitious introduction of any articles into the prison, as contrary to an express law, and calculated to bring them into jeopardy. In this dilemma the players turned their thoughts towards the jailer's wife, relying less upon her kindliness of heart, often as they had experienced it, than upon the influence of Jocelyn, into whose room she had conveyed certain titbits and little delicacies, not so covertly as to have escaped the jealous watchfulness of his fellow-prisoners. Snatching his opportunity, therefore, when she had been administering some cordials to a sick inmate of the jail, Pickering strutted up to her with Jocelyn in his hand, and apostrophized her in his usual rhodomontade style. "O thou of ruddy cheek! black twinkling eye, voluptuous form, and heart intenerate; Miltonian beauty, buxom, blithe,