thou bantering blade, 1 am bare as a beggar's wallet, poor as the alm's-box at the church door,

-so talk not to me of money, unless you come as a lender, not a borrower.

"'Sblood, Sir, what means the Chancellor by saying he cannot hear my cause out of its course, but that I may depend on having justice? He lies, for delay is ruin, and therefore the worst of injustice. Since Nan Hyde married the Duke, I suppose we are to stand in awe of his lordship's big wig; but egad! if I were not tied by the leg, I would beard him on the woolsack, and tell him plump that it would be better for both of us if he would attend more to Brambletye House, and less to Dunkirk House.* It's a burning shame of Rowley to allow such delays, especially towards an old servant and soldier, who had foot in stirrup and sword in hand for so many years, and ought not to be forgotten now, that he has a gouty shoe upon one, and a flesh-brush in the other.

"The black ghost comes out as usual with the owls and bats, and flits round Brambletye, and spits her spite, and curses and swears, and talks to the moon worse than ever. The cow

* A nick-name bestowed by his enemies upon the magnificent mansion he was then building in St. James's Street, the expense of which, it was intended to insinuate, was defrayed out of the bribe-money, received for the sale of Dunkirk.

ardly knaves are all afraid of her, for they now say she is a witch, or else they might have caught her before this, and have executed my order to trail her nine times round the moat. Jack Whittaker, however, had a chase after her last week, and though the Jezabel got away, as usual, we have reason to hope that he wounded her with a large stone that he sent hissing at her head. By the bye, honest Jack talks of leaving me, unless ale be substituted for swipes, which the Vrouw won't hear of, and therefore you may suppose I don't often get a bottle of claret. Money, quotha! you are a wag, Jocelyn; and a saucy Jackanapes, my boy; and a flouting malapert, my darling; so no more at present from your poor, gouty, disappointed, pillaged, forgotten, but still affectionate and stout hearted father, John Compton.

“ P. S.—Harkye, Sir! what business have you to want money with such a liberal salary from the Queen? I forgot to ask that question. Zounds! Sir; don't expect a farthing from me. If you fall into the wild extravagance of the Court, I shall cast you off, and not care a whiff of tobacco about you. Indeed, I am not sure that I do now; so once more, God bless you my own dear boy.J. C."

On the following morning, upon returning to his apartment, after having been in attendance upon the Queen, he found a parcel carefully wrap12

VOL. III.

ped up in baize, and sealed at either end, upon opening which he discovered a small oaken box, and the following letter:

"You have been wandering long enough in the ways of unrighteousness. Are they the paths of peace ? Let your own bosom resolve this question. For shame! for shame! Leave vice to fools and knaves. Your intellect is too clear, your heart too good, to allow you even a momentary gratification in its indulgence. Crime will only aggravate your unhappiness. It is therefore without an aim, and without an excuse. This money is not sent to minister to new errors, but to enable you to withdraw with honour from your old ones.

"A FRIEND."

On breaking open the box, it proved to be filled with gold, to a considerable amount, very neatly packed, but without any further paper, or clue that might lead to the discovery of the mysterious and generous donor. It had been left by a man dressed in a grey Campain suit, with black and red points, and wearing a brown perriwig, who said that no answer was required, and disappeared immediately after delivering the parcel. The porter had never seen him before, though he thought he might recognise him were he again to meet him.

This communication, so different in its matter

and manner from Sir John's, excited various emotions in Jocelyn's breast. Curiosity for some time predominated over every other feeling; he scrutinised the hand-writing, he examined the box, he inspected the seal, but still he remained as much in the dark as ever. There was no evidence to guide him, conjecture was useless; and he was therefore compelled to leave the solution of the enigma to time and chance. A second perusal of the letter awakened a different train of thought. He was softened by the discovery that he possessed a generous, though unknown, friend, in that world which he had been lately beginning to contemplate with a splenetic disgust: while his heart, upbraiding him with the truth of the sentiments he had been reading, whispered to him, that although he had merited reproach for the past, he might best testify his gratitude to his munificent monitor, by avoiding it for the future. At once gratified and humiliated, he made vows of amendment, which, at least, evinced a sincere repentance for the moment, although they might not always exercise a governing influence upon his subsequent conduct.

Since his accidental encounter with the bailiffs in the city, he had rarely ventured from his apartments, except in the performance of his official duties, in which he was protected from arrest by the privilege and precincts of the court; but, as he now intended to appropriate the gift to the pur

a considerable

poses indicated by its donor, he sallied cheerfully forth, that he might himself convey the agreeable tidings to the parties interested. On passing Whitehall, he observed crowd around the doors of the banqueting-house, and having learned, upon inquiry, that the King was at that moment touching for the evil, a ceremony which he had never seen, he walked into the palace, and was borne along by the throng until he found himself in the royal presence. So great had been the multitude of people with their sick children, besieging the door of the King's surgeon on the morning before, to obtain the certificates that were to entitle them to be touched, that several had been crushed to death; notwithstanding which calamity, a prodigious crowd was again assembled to witness the process, and all were eagerly pressing into the banqueting-room.

In this magnificent hall, beneath a canopy of state, his Majesty was seated in his robes; the surgeons in attendance caused the sick to be carried up to the throne, where they placed themselves upon their knees, when the King stroked their faces or cheeks with both his hands at once; at which instant, a chaplain in his formalities, said, -"He put his hands upon them, and he healed them," which words were repeated to every patient. When they had been all touched they came up again in the same order, and the other chaplain kneeling, and having gold pieces stamped with the