would not run the risk of offending his generous preserver, by refusing to avail himself of it in his present need.

Turning his back upon the ill-fated city of London, along whose silent streets Death, the destroyer, was still walking in all the terror of his undiminished wrath, he plunged into the wholesome country, like a bird escaped from his cage, and inhaled the pure atmosphere, as if he had migrated into a happier world, and were enjoying a new existence. Delight was in every object, every sound, every odour; his senses seemed to be gifted with a second youth, that steeped them in pleasure; a fresh vitality was wafted from every field; mere existence became a species of ecstacy: his spirits were exhilarated; his body was refreshed; and instead of arriving at Oxford, as he had expected, in a state of increased debility, the change of air and succession of pleasant objects had so effectually counteracted the fatigues of travel, that he felt himself infinitely better at the con. clusion than at the commencement of his journey.

His friend Tracy, to whom he immediately betook himself, greeted him with the liveliest cordiality, declaring that nothing could be more opportune than his arrival, as every thing was now prepared for his complete restoration to favour. All his former opponents were, at last, propitiated. The King, with his usual pliability, was willing to grant whatever was asked him by any of his favourites, either male or female; the Duke of Buckingham, as Tracy had anticipated, declared that he had hated him long enough; and, as he sadly wanted a change of sensations, he was willing

to receive him into his especial favour and protection. Lady Castlemaine had been the last to hold out, rẻsisting all the solicitations of the Duke of Monmouth, who had been indefatigable in his behalf; nor would her wrath have been ultimately appeased, but for a little manoeuvre of his friend Lord Rochester. That nobleman presented to her one morning a most bitter and scurrilous lampoon upon her two mortal enemies, Lady Gerrard and the Duchess of Richmond, with which she was so immeasurably delighted, that she desired him to name his own reward, binding herself by an oath to grant it. According to the scandalous chronicle of the courtiers, who had for some time observed a growing penchant between the parties, she expected that he would gladly seize this opportunity for indulging his love of gallantry, and of affording her the excuse of her vow to permit it: but his lordship, whose capricious humour sometimes found more pleasure in vexing and disappointing others, than even in advancing his own intrigues, stipulated for her forgiveness of Jocelyn, and her consent to his recall. These points she was bound in honour to concede; but she had never spoken since to Lord Rochester, and Jocelyn was warned that this extorted reconciliation, with a woman of her haughty character, was likely to prove hollow, and insincere.

Not many hours had elapsed after his arrival at Oxford, when he was presented to the Queen, who received him with extraordinary condescension and kindness, inquiring into all the circumstances of his exile, as well as his recovery from the plague, and expressing her re

gret that he should have been exposed to so much peril and suffering upon her account. She cautioned him, however, against any future indulgence in such intemperate language as that which had led to his disgrace, particularly desiring him never to let his zeal for the Queen lead him to forget his duty to the King. Al though his situation of vice-chamberlain had been be stowed upon another, she declared that she held her self accountable to him for the salary up to the period of his return, which she should desire her treasurer to pay over to him: and added, that if he considered the post of her private secretary a desirable substitution for his former office, he might kiss her hand upon receiv ing the appointment. With a smile of affability, she held it out to him for that purpose; and Jocelyn, falling upon one knee, acknowledged, in suitable terms, his grateful sense of the honour conferred upon him. Her Majesty informed him that his duties would be very trifling, as she was so mere a cypher in the state, as to have little or no correspondence; adding, that she should hardly have filled up the appointment, unless for the pleasure of obliging one who had suffered from his imprudence in her behalf; and finally declared that if he desired to absent himself from the court, until his health was more fully re-established, he was at perfect liberty to do so.

Of this permission he could have hardly found leisure to avail himself, even had he desired it, for it was no sooner buzzed abroad, that he had returned to court, had been nominated to a better appointment than the one he had lost, and was likely to be in greater favour

than ever, than his apartment was thronged with the minions and parasites, who came to congratulate him on his good fortune, and express their unfeigned regard for a man, whose name, but the week before, they would not have mentioned without some disparaging adjunct. Among others who thus presented themselves, was Mark Walton, his second in the duel with Bagot, who was so delighted at learning the Queen's liberality in paying him his arrears, that he condescended to borrow nearly the whole of the money, to advance some project which he had at that moment in hand, and in which, if successful, he declared that his fortune would be made for life. «You are happy," he exclaimed, << in serving the Queen instead of the King, for I have not yet received one farthing of my salary since the Restoration, and this is almost universally the case; though for any of the King's mistresses, or other pleasurable purpose, there is a lavish expenditure of money, even to waste and wantonness. I However," continued the cautious young courtier, «we must not rashly blame his Majesty, in whose defence much may

The king was vexed the other day for having no paper laid for him at the council-table, as was usual, and Sir Richard Browne did tell his majesty he would call the person whose work it was to provide it: who being come did tell his majesty that he was but a poor man, and was out 4 or 5ool. for it, which was as much as he was worth; and that he cannot provide it any longer without money, having not received a penny since the king's coming-in. And many such mementos, the king do now-a-day meet withal, enough to make an ingenuous man mad.»-Memoirs of Pepys, vol. ii. p. 44. In the very next page the author notices a grant for 4000l. worth of plate to be made for Lady Byron, who had been the king's seventeenth mistress when abroad.

be said. The tragical death of his father, his wander ing and necessitous life in early youth, the perils to which he was exposed, and the treason and ingratitude that he so often encountered, have probably combined to disgust him with public business, to render him dis trustful of mankind, and to persuade him that the sum mum bonum consists in ease, indolence, and sensual indulgence, an error from which his own good sense would have long ago redeemed him, had he not been confirmed in it by satellites and flatterers.»

«I differ with you, toto cœlo," cried Jocelyn, «his father's fate should have warned him against the causes that produced it; his wandering life, by giving him experience, might have taught him wisdom; the good

That such was the opinion of his contemporaries, will be seen by the following extracts from the tract in the British Museum, of which mention has already been made; while they prove, at the same time, the base sycophancy and adulation with which the restored monarch was assailed. " And, indeed, those great opportunities which he hath had by his being so long abroad, of diving into the great councils of foreign princes and states, must necessarily make him a person of a very perspicuous understanding, and endowed him with all those qualities which may deservedly attain the name of great, and render him as well an able statist as a king; he having, during his expulsion, travelled through and lived in the countries of three the most potent princes in Christendom viz. the emperor of Germany, and the kings of Spain and France, etc. So that both nature and industry have seemed to use their utmost endeavours to make him a perfect prince, his very afflictions turning in this to his benefit, and making him in knowledge and sufferings (the refiner of knowledge,) unparalleled. Neither is his piety less than his justice, they are both in the superlative degree; he hates wickedness, not because the world should see him glory (that would make him an hypocrite), but because God abhors it. To conclude he is the pattern of patience and piety, the most righteous and