well as its dusky hue, sufficiently attesting that it was often fumigated by the use of that fragrant herb. From these appearances, it might be conjectured, that the house belonged to a man of mean condition and studious habits; and while Jocelyn was speculating upon the probable profession of its owner, a deep, solemn, and sonorous voice from an adjoining chamber exclaimed aloud:

"The floating vessel swam

Uplifted, and secure with beaked prow,

Rode tilting o'er the waves; all dwellings else
Flood overwhelm'd, and them, with all their pomp.
Deep under water roll'd; sea covered sea,
Sea without shore; and in their palaces,
Where luxury late reign'd, sea-monsterswhelp'd,
And stabled."

Under any other circumstances he would have continued a delighted listener to this sublime strain; but just at this moment he saw his pursuers making inquiries at the opposite side of the street; and observing that, from the lowness of the window, they might look into the room and discover him, he determined to wave all ceremony; and accordingly, opening the door of communication, he stepped into the adjoining apartment. It was larger and lighter than the one he had quitted, and the books it contained were scattered about with greater confusion. Fronting him, in an arm-chair, there sat a venerable looking blind old

man, his curling grey hair falling down upon either shoulder, and his sightless orbs upturned to heaven, as in the enthusiasm of the moment he continued his recitation, apparently unconscious of the intrusion. By his side was a young female seated at a desk and writing, behind whom was another, with her back towards Jocelyn, as she stood upon a chair to reach down a book.

These figures were Milton, dictating the Paradise Lost to his daughters. Although several years had elapsed since Jocelyn had seen him in the library of Hampton Court, the peculiar and striking physiognomy of the bard were not to be mistaken, and he recognised him immediately. He who had been the inmate of a palace, the friend and counsellor of a sovereign, and presented to foreign ambassadors as the ornament of his court, was now in this obscure retreat, living in comparative poverty and neglect, and only indebted to the oblivion, into which he had fallen, for his escape from persecution and danger. Yet the moral grandeur of his present humble station atoned to him for all the worldly distinctions he had lost, for he felt assured that he was laying the foundations of an immortality upon earth. The Genius of Puritanism, surviving in his bosom, was preparing to assert its powers, to avenge its fame; and this lofty conviction not only upheld him in his reverses, but imparted to them a character of superiority and triumph.

The daughter, who had been writing, gazed upon Jocelyn as he entered with a mute astonishment; the other, who had been taking down the book, no sooner beheld him as she turned round, than she uttered a faint cry of alarm.— “What ails thee, Mary, my child?" inquired the bard." Speak, Deborah," he continued, after a short pause, " and tell me, since I am disobeyed by your sister, what means this brawling interruption of my meditations ?"

With many apologies for his intrusion, Jocelyn now briefly explained the circumstances that had led to it, imploring protection for a short time, but offering to retire immediately should his longer presence be deemed inadmissible. The bard declared, that as his humble residence had been a Zoar and a place of refuge to himself, so should it prove to the pilgrim and the wayfarer that sought the protection of its roof, beneath which he invited Jocelyn to remain until the danger had passed away, but concluded by ordering both his daughters to retire instantly to their own apartment. This injunction they appeared to obey with some hesitation, casting sundry glances at their uninvited visitant, whose striking figure, not less than the inordinate finery of his dress, were calculated to excite no small admiration in young ladies who had for a long time been habituated only to such homely and mechanical figures, as were to be encountered in

the sequestered and religious precincts of Bunhill Row.

Somewhat ashamed of the occasion which had thus introduced him to Milton, conscious that he must appear in a contemptible light to so stern a moralist, and too much awed by his superior talent, as well as virtue, to attempt beguiling the time by conversation, Jocelyn staid not a moment longer than he considered necessary for his safety, when he most earnestly returned thanks for the shelter he had found, and took his departure. Soon after quitting the door, he saw an empty coach, whose driver, for the bribe of half-a-crown, agreed to carry him to London Bridge, where he took water, and reached his apartments at Whitehall without any further let or impediment.

He had regularly communicated to Sir John his appointment under the Queen, and his favourable prospects at the court, although, for obvious reasons, he had never made any allusion to his pecuniary difficulties. Having now occasion to communicate to his father the result of an interview with the Lord Chancellor respecting the Brambletye suit, his urgent embarrassments led him to solicit a loan of money, which he promised to return when he should receive his next payment from the Queen. Although no very punctual correspondent in general, Sir John lost no time in sending the following answer to the application :

"Gadzooks, Jocelyn, I knew of old that you were passionate as gunpowder, peppery as a deviled drumstick, and if you are your father's son you have a right to be so; but I never thought you were a wag and a joker. Borrow money of me! 'Ods heart! if it were not for the gout, I should laugh till I frightened all the fishes in the moat. You know well enough how I have been treated; you know that Rowley's famous act of oblivion and indemnity proves to be oblivion to his friends and indemnity to his enemies. Money, you comical dog! We Cavaliers may well quote London's Farewell to the Parliament, and sing,

'Farewell plate and money, with hey, with hey,
Farewell, plate and money, with hoe;

'Tis going down the water,

Or something near the matter,
And public faith's going after,

With hey, trolly, lolly, loe!'

"What little comes in, falls into the clutches of the damned Dutch Vrouw, from whose grasp you may extract it when you can pick powder out of pitch with a feather; or wool out of birdlime with a stalk of thistledown. A bots upon the plague! that carried off so many jolly wenches, and left her ladyship behind. Perhaps she was spared as one of the family, for I'm sure she has been plague enough to me. Once more,