these dolorous laughter-hating Puritans, I shall now looks they s you solemn with a portion of «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 enterprizes 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 predominance--" « 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 VOL. I. 7 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 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 assurances that he would bestir himself instantly for his release, he took his departure, leaving Jocelyn alone with the gaoler, a black-muzzled, beetle-browed fellow, with an ominous cast in his eye, which imparted a singular ugliness to his scowling features. While this interesting personage was unconcernedly continuing his whiffs, apparently intending to finish his pipe before he took the trouble of initiating his new prisoner into the inner ward, they were joined by his wife, a stout but fresh and comely dame, who no sooner beheld Jocelyn, than she exclaimed, as she fixed her looks upon him!—« Dear heart! dear heart! Giles Lockhart, did you ever clap eyes upon such a likeness to our poor dear Thomas, that we lost o' the small pox? why it's the very dapse of him!» « Psha!" said the husband, surlily-« so you say of every lad you see. As much like him as you are like Queen Bess." -- She « The same age, the same dark hair, the same bright eyes, the same comely face,» continued the wife-« well I never!-my poor dear child! 't was a heart-breaking thing, and he our only boy, and such a sweet— took up the corner of her apron, and after wiping her eyes attempted to proceed-« such a sweet-but she could get no further, the tears gushed out afresh, and she leant, sobbing and weeping, against the barrier of the lodge. his «What the devil ails the woman?» cried the gaoler, attempting to conceal his own emotion, by an assumed tone of anger, and at the same time turning away face-«<what is there to greet about, Madge? you are always on about the boy-many others have lost a child as well as we.>> |